


A Normal Life

by atonalremix



Series: A Normal Life [1]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, F/M, Multi, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 18:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 117,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2702888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atonalremix/pseuds/atonalremix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damon had promised his parents that he would give his kid brother Stefan a normal life, but... after new vampire Bonnie Bennett rolls into town, he’s not so sure he can deliver that promise anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. arrivals

**Author's Note:**

> I've been holding off on this idea for a while, and I can only hope that I do it some justice. Ever since they revealed Silas's connection to Damon and Stefan, I've been wanting to do a role reversal AU, and this just seemed like the perfect way to do it - so I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> (This isn't a direct crosspost from the version hosted at FF.net, if only because I've edited some grammatical mistakes present in the other one. Just a heads-up.)

Life should've been far more exciting than this. Damon had always envisioned ditching school and living halfway across the country from his stifling parents, just as he had envisioned a life that wasn't continuing the grand Salvatore legacy. Yet, against his better judgment, he had enrolled in Whitmore College's prestigious Masters program for Cognitive Psychology two years ago. Against his better judgment, he had agreed to his parents' half-baked idea of acting as Stefan's legal guardian. Against his better judgment, he had even encouraged his parents to pursue their dreams: his mother had finally earned the opportunity to work at her dream dig site in Tuscany, while his father would accompany her and teach archeology alongside her. While Damon didn't have the strongest relationship with his father, he knew their work mattered in the archaeological community. Problem was, parents weren't supposed to ditch their children for their careers. Stefan was supposed to have two parents who loved him unconditionally, rather than the older brother who'd been nothing but trouble.

While Stefan wasn't the most rebellious teenager, he craved his father's affection – and of course, Dad favored Stefan's hobbies and interests over Damon's. They bonded over meaningless philosophical novels and had the same stupid taste in comedies, while Damon and Mom would just shake their heads at them the whole time. Maybe if Dad and Mom were still home, Damon wouldn't constantly feel as if he were walking on eggshells, just waiting for everything to explode on him at once. The whole point of being home, after all, was to ensure that Stef still had a normal high school experience. The experience that Damon had craved, to be more precise. While Mason Lockwood and Jenna Sommers had made classes bearable (and okay, maybe he'd made out with Jenna a couple of times), and he knew he couldn't have asked for better friends, Stefan deserved something better.

Damon's high school experience had been colored by self-taught alchemy lessons, where Damon learned to synthesize alcohol from old, dusty books his father had kept under lock and key in the basement. (It was a hell of a lot easier than using a fake ID.) Sure, those same books taught him how to manipulate time and space to find old keys, mismatched socks, and even the answer to the meaning of life (42). Truthfully, those same books made him feel like even more of an ostracized freak because of all the weird events that surrounded him. Even Mason noticed after a while, and Damon was pretty sure that Mason was high most of the time.

So far, normalcy surrounded Stefan, and Damon was determined to keep it that way. Every morning, Damon would wake up early and serve his brother scrambled eggs before Stefan headed off for school. Sometimes, Stefan would have time for lengthy conversations – usually about his extracurriculars or his girlfriend Elena – but other mornings, Damon had to toss the keys and hope to dear God that Stef was awake enough to drive to school. It wasn't Damon's ideal life, but it wasn't a nightmare either. After Stefan left (he'd overslept this morning), Damon grabbed his car keys and headed into town.

He didn't have a seminar at Whitmore, so he could afford to run errands at this hour. Mystic Falls was a sleepy little town, about two hours away from Whitmore, a small, liberal arts college that specialized in the social sciences – anthropology, psychology, sociology, etc. Most of his parents' friends were university professors or faculty, so Damon had been raised by the ivory towers he disdained so much. Maybe it was his homing instinct, to stay in the confines of the tower, or maybe it was his increasing inability to "face the real world," but Mystic Falls had become home again, for better or for worse.

As he passed through town square, he could overhear women giggling and gossiping, gesturing towards him as he slouched forward. As a teenager, he would've ignored them, told them that they really weren't thinking straight – but now? Now he pretended that everything was alright, because it honestly wasn't the end of the world if they found him attractive. It just meant that they'd forgotten his awkward years, buried in yearbooks and basement archives and maybe MySpace, if it was still functioning. To someone who wanted to escape his past, their selective amnesia was a blessing.

Damon had just finished running errands - grabbing groceries, getting the dry cleaning, and so forth - when he saw an unfamiliar face just outside the Mystic Grille. Her green eyes caught his attention first. She was about high school age, dressed in the mainstream uniform of a high school sweatshirt and jeans, but the second their eyes met, Damon had to turn his head. There was no mistaking her aura. Behind that innocent smile was someone who wielded immense power, and Damon knew she was in town for a reason.

So he stood straighter as he walked up to her, pretending that he hadn't just gazed into her soul, with a blindingly bright smile that had charmed the church ladies. "I don't think I've seen you around before."

She blinked, glancing around for anyone else he might've been talking to, before slowly pointing towards herself. "Me?"

"Yes, you." Damon's smile faded slightly, with the realization that she might actually be as young as she looked. ( _Dateline_ had better not be in his near future. He didn't want to be a registered sex offender before he finished grad school.) "I hear school's a pretty great place to be at this hour."

She rolled her eyes, not trying to hide them behind her curly hair. "I just moved here. My Grams and I are getting the paperwork sorted out."

Oh. Well, that explained absolutely nothing. Damon studied her more intently, trying to figure out who she might be related to... "Aunt Sheila?" He ventured, squinting to determine the resemblance better. "Is she your grandma?"

She blinked back surprise. "Uh, yeah. How'd you know?"

"You have the same glare." He laughed, not unkindly, as he folded his arms. He remembered many an evening where Mrs. Bennett would interfere, just because he happened to look at her funny. "Plus I kind of grew up with her. Funny how she never mentioned a granddaughter before now..."

He would've liked to know her, considering that she might be Stefan's peer. They could've gone on play dates! Heck, they still could, considering that Damon called all of Stef's extracurriculars "play dates."

Her uneasiness gave way to the first genuine smile he'd seen on her face. "It kind of happens."

"Kind of," Damon repeated, even gesturing with air quotes.

"Yes!" She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand in a feigned, polite manner. "Oh, um, I'm Bonnie. It's nice to meet you, Mr...?"

"Damon - and don't you _think_ of calling me Mister again. I'm too young for that." He grinned wryly, knowing well that it might've just been the Southern Belle in Bonnie. As much as he hated Mystic Falls and all it represented, the South knew how to raise a kid with manners. Yet, he didn't hold out his hand to her.

When their eyes met again, it was she who winced - and Damon almost felt bad for the pain he inflicted on her. Almost.

"Next time you're in school, Bonbon," he said casually, turning to face the door, "You'd better not play that innocent game again-"

She shrieked silently, clutching her forehead as she collapsed to the ground. " _Warlock._ "

"Actually, I prefer the term _wizard_. You're welcome, by the way," he said with a slight flourish, bowing mockingly to her before he grabbed his keys out of his pocket and headed back to his car.

If it weren't for the multiple aneurysms, she would've ripped his throat out. He knew that bloodthirsty look better than anyone else, considering it had almost happened to him before. The second he revved the engine up, he released his metaphorical hold on her - and watched from his rear-view mirror as she bitterly rubbed her temples. Mystic Falls may have been a sleepy little haven, but this girl's arrival could only be the start of something interesting.

 

 

 

 

 

The last time supernatural creatures - ones other than the Salvatores - had taken up residence, Dad had driven them away with magic. Real, honest-to-goodness magic. He'd solemnly promised Damon that under no circumstances should he reveal the "grand legacy" to Stefan. At the time, Damon was in high school, and Mason Lockwood had just narrowly avoided killing someone.

" _Your brother deserves a normal life_ ," Dad had said, shaking to his knees as he released the last ward. While Dad had never been sickly, the sight had almost brought Damon to tears. " _Promise me that much._ "

Damon had never seen eye to eye with his father, but he couldn't help thinking, as he stared at the strong man who'd raised him, that his dad was worthy of respect. So Damon had locked up the old, dusty volumes after scanning them into his tablet; he'd created code words to hide his recipes; and he'd even cut off contact with the Occult Studies program Mom had assisted with at Whitmore. Mom hadn't verbally expressed Dad's wish, but Damon could see it in her eyes. She wanted a normal life for them both - it was just a shame that Damon had gotten wrapped up in it so early.

With Bonnie's arrival, Damon could sense that Stefan would become entangled in this crazy life too. Damon needed to prepare for that moment and ensure that he could fight. Problem was, Stefan was taking forever to get home.

Damon stared up impatiently at the clock, hissing at it to tick faster because _dammit_ , he didn't want to burst that bubble too late in the evening. Stefan would accuse him of being drunk! Damon didn't fancy a conversation that ended with yet another recommendation for Alcoholics Anonymous, and frankly, the normal life Dad desired wasn't going to happen if Miss Bonnie stayed in town with her supposed grandma! Was she even related to Aunt Sheila, or did she just compel the poor old lady into the deal? (If it was the latter, Bonnie would be answering to a lot more than popped brain vessels.)

About half an hour later than expected, Stefan walked through the back door. Damon could sense him before he saw him - which wasn't hard, even with Stefan's wild mane of blond hair.

Damon slammed down his tea mug so hard it almost broke. "Where were you?"

Stefan stared blankly, just as his girlfriend walked in after him. "Um..."

Elena only had to take one look at the imminent storm before she jumped between them. "He was with me, okay?" She held out her arms, seeking to keep them as far apart from each other as she could. "I promise, we weren't even making out or anything. We got held up with school stuff."

"School stuff...?" Damon tried to recall Stefan's school clubs again. The kid was a member of Mock Trial, did some stuff with Student Government, and tutored English to underclassmen. Maybe they had a meeting? That was plausible. Stefan never could say no to other people. "Like clubs or something?"

Damon's confusion must've been obvious, because Stefan's furrowed brow had melted into one sickeningly large grin. "Yes, clubs. You know, those'll help me get into a good college?"

Elena stifled a giggle, hiding her amusement behind her long, chestnut-brown hair. "We were planning the annual car wash. Caroline wanted us to-"

Damon held up a hand in defeat. "I don't want to know. Not after the Cuddlebuddies."

Stefan snorted softly. "You asked, might I remind you."

Okay, so Bonnie hadn't quite infected them yet. This was a good start.

"Speaking of reminders..." Damon rummaged through their tea cabinet before fishing out an envelope of vervain tea. He'd synthesized it while waiting for Stefan: it was a blend of vervain, blackberries, black currants, and rooibus - all flavors Elena enjoyed on a regular basis. While he could just blend extra vervain in Stefan's coffee, he had to be craftier when it came to Stefan's girlfriend. "I came across this the other day. Figured you might enjoy some."

Elena cautiously accepted the bag of tea and stuffed it into her purse. "Thanks, but my birthday was three months ago."

Stefan gave Damon a confused look. "Since when were you interested in herbal tea? I thought Earl Grey and Chai were about it."

"Siiiince one of my classmates brought it back for me, and I figured I should spread the wealth." Damon took another sip of his vervain-spiked tea. Sometimes, it sucked to have a muggle for a kid brother. "It'd just go to waste in our house, right?"

"Eh." Stefan shrugged. Damon wasn't exactly lying - Stefan didn't drink much tea either, and what he did drink was mostly limited to the green varieties. "Happy late birthday, El."

"Thanks." She lightly squeezed Damon's hand. "Next thing I know, you'll be signing us up for a Tea of the Month club or something."

"Don't give him ideas," Stefan called, turning towards the staircase. "You name it, he's probably gotten it for a present..."

"Hey!" Damon pointed an accusatory finger at them. "I'll have you know, that Fruit of the Month club was genius, even if you still owe me for all those kiwis you devoured."

Elena couldn't hide her laughter anymore, even as she was dashing up the staircase with her boyfriend. "We sent you an IOU! Jeremy did too, when you bought those cookies over."

Damon rolled his eyes. "It's _Jeremy_. The kid could conquer the world and I probably wouldn't care." Plus, the kid was an honest taste-tester. If a recipe didn't work, Jeremy would always be vocal about it, compared to Stefan's feigned politeness. Honesty always won points in Damon's (meager) book.

Stefan scowled. "So when I eat your kiwis, you suddenly start to care?"

"Love you too, baby bro."

Elena waved, dragging Stefan into his room. The door slammed shut behind them, and for the first time that day, Damon relaxed his guard. While he wasn't exactly envious of his kid brother's love life, he also knew it was probably what kept Stef sane.

He stared down at his to-do list. ' _Visit Uncle Grayson's and Aunt Miranda's graves_ ' was highlighted in yellow, and even though he'd planned on asking the Gilbert kids to join them... part of him selfishly wanted to visit them on his own. Uncle Grayson had helped him with his grad school proposal, and Aunt Miranda had guided him when the world felt crazy and confusing. A world without them sucked, and he had no clue how to even begin to navigate it.

It only felt like yesterday that Damon got that fateful, tearful phone call from Jenna. Jenna had been hysterically sobbing, with an urgency in her voice that she had never expressed before, when she asked Damon to pick her up from the airport.

" _What? Why?_ " He'd remembered asking her, glancing up at the clock and wondering why she was up at this hour.

" _Grayson and Miranda..._ " She'd hiccuped, unable to finish that sentence. " _G-Grayson and sis... they... the bridge..._ "

His heart had sunk. " _Don't you dare finish that sentence._ "

" _They're_ dead _, Damon._ "

He'd almost hung up on her, because she had to be joking, because he would just call them on the phone and Uncle Grayson would laugh at him for being so stupid, and because the idea was so preposterous that it couldn't possibly be true.

" _They're..._ " He swallowed an incoming breath. " _I-I'll do it. What time does your flight come in?_ "

The rest of their conversation had been eerily robotic, about times and flights and terminals, and Damon would laugh at its surreal nature later. How they had managed to keep their voices even, he wasn't sure. Whatever he was feeling, Damon knew Elena and Jeremy had been hit by it a hundred times harder. With Elena, he felt as if he were walking on eggshells with her. It got easier every month, with the jokes and the bags of tea and so forth. With Jeremy, Damon wasn't sure if they'd ever regain their former dynamic. He just wanted to protect Jeremy from the world, which was getting pretty hard when Baby Gilbert started dealing drugs.

No matter how many times Damon burned that stash - or synthesized it into something harmless - the kid just found more. Damon took one last look at his to-do list, and then scribbled one last item.

□ _Go check up on Jeremy._

Tucking it away in his pocket, he glanced up towards the staircase. Elena and Stefan were old enough to be left home alone for a couple of hours. Damon knew full well what they were up to - anyone with half a brain did - but he would be a terrible brother if he interrupted them.

Which, of course, was why he casually knocked on their door and called, "I'm gonna check up on Jeremy! Do you lovebirds need anything?"

Stefan moaned. Loudly. "GO AWAY, DAMON."

"Aw, love you too," he cooed at Stefan, wishing that his kid brother could see the smirk on his face. "I'll be back in an hour or so - and no, Elena can't spend the night over. I mean, unless she wants to miss Taco Night with Jenna."

He heard very audible groans from the bed ("nooooo, not Taco Night!" "Elena, do you even LIKE Tacos?") as he headed downstairs. Some nights, he swore to God, his family was more entertaining than network television.

The Gilbert house was about a fifteen minute drive from the Salvatore Manor. Some nights - like the night he drove Jenna from the airport - he wished they lived closer. It would've made their lives a lot easier, but at least they were in the same town. Plus, checking up on Jeremy was a great excuse for not working on his thesis. There was only so many ways he could rewrite something before it looked like complete and utter gibberish.

Casually parking in the driveway, he got out and knocked on the front door. He could hear the sound of someone stampeding down the staircase - Jeremy, no doubt - and a "Coming! Hang on a minute!"

He could wait. It wasn't as if he had anywhere to be at this hour, and if Jeremy didn't answer, he could count on Jenna (and a trusty bottle of whiskey).

Then the door swung open, leaving Damon to stare straight at Miss Bonnie Bennett.

"Good evening, Mr. _Salvatore_ ," she greeted, giving him the same mocking bow he'd given only hours ago. "It's so good to see you again."


	2. discoveries

This wasn't how Damon expected to end his week.

"H-how?" He said, giving her a blank stare and frankly, not much else to work with. His usual one-liners were stuck on the edge of his lips, refusing to come out. She wanted something from this town - no other reason she'd be here - but what would she find at the Gilberts'? Uncle Grayson had left most of his vampire hunting gear at the lake house, back when Elena first entered high school. Only Damon and Elena's uncle John had the keys - and frankly, Damon wasn't keen on letting Bonnie waltz into the safehouse. Not for some dinky stakes and some old crossbows. Bonnie only had to take one look at his face before she burst out laughing.

"Cat got your tongue?" She asked, leaning forward and oh-so-seductively reaching for the gunblade necklace around his neck.

Was a centuries-old high school student really hitting on him? Damon instantly recoiled. "Cat doesn't want to end up on _Dateline_ , thank you very much."

"Why would you ever end up on _Dateline?_ "

As always, Jeremy Gilbert had the world's worst timing. Appearing right behind Bonnie, he casually approached Damon as if everything were normal. Even now, dressed in a black hoodie and torn, raggedy jeans that reminded Damon of Linkin Park and terrible high school life choices, Jeremy was a welcome distraction. Grinning at Damon, Jeremy whispered, "That's Bonnie. She says she really likes me."

Damon peered into Jeremy's dull, glazed over eyes and let out a groan. If Elena and Stefan were leads on network television, Jeremy and Bonnie would star in their very own HBO show - and Jeremy was way too young for sex and violence. Mostly the sex, but violence for good measure.

Protectively taking Jeremy by the arm, Damon narrowed his eyes at Bonnie. "It's a long story. Better question, why is she here?"

Bonnie batted her eyelashes as her lips curled downwards, in her best imitation of innocence. "Why, Damon, I thought we were friends." Maybe if she hadn't worked some mind magic on his little brother!

Jeremy's confusion only gave way to bewilderment. "How did you two even meet?"

Damon started, "An even longer sto-"

"He helped me with directions when I first got here," Bonnie sweetly finished for him.

"Okay, maybe not that long."

Jeremy snorted, looking back and forth between them as if they were an enthralling tennis match. "Are you doing that thing again where you're trying to protect me because of what happened with Vicki?"

"Nnno?" Not quite. Vicki Donovan was a hot mess - no pun intended - because of the circumstances of their relationship (an older girl angling for easy drug access). If Jeremy attempted to pursue anything with Bonnie, it would also be a hot mess that would end with a premature death or two. Damon wasn't so sure his heart could handle it.

"I just need to talk to Bonbon for a minute, okay? Tell Jenna that Stefan and I are coming over for Taco Night."

"Ugh," Jeremy groaned, turning to head back towards the kitchen. "I swear, you and Elena are the only ones that actually _enjoy_ it."

Damon waited until the kid stomped out of sight (and hearing range) before he hissed, "Seriously, what are you doing here?"

"I heard the kid's parents were vampire hunters," Bonnie said, folding her arms as she studied Damon up and down. "Just making sure that they're not in the business either. It wouldn't be all fun and games if they tried to hunt me down the same way you did."

"They weren't exactly Van Helsing." Damon narrowed his eyes. Uncle Grayson and Aunt Miranda had always operated under the 'if a vamp attacks, then stake them on sight' kind of approach. "Does this mean you're not trying to kill them?"

"I don't exactly believe in the killing game... but I might make an exception for you." When she directed all of the intensity of those green eyes at him, he could hear his heartbeat growing faster and faster. The guilt would've consumed him, had he not already hated vampires to the core.

If she was one of those hippie vegetarian types, he didn't need her in his life. They weren't much better than the real deal. "So that's it? You're here, in this sleepy little town, just to make sure some doctor's kids aren't into the vampire game?"

Her face held the tiniest hints of a smile. "Sounds about right."

"What kind of idiot do you take me for, Bennett? If that's even your real name?"

Her smile only grew wider. "I see you're quick on the uptake. I expected no less from Zachary's oldest boy."

"You knew Dad...?" Damon's voice grew quiet. Dad had never mentioned her. There was no record of her in the Grimoire. Hell, he couldn't even remember a dusty photograph. "How...?"

Just then, Jeremy returned with a slightly disgruntled expression. "Jenna says you'll have to help her. She almost burned the water. Again."

Dammit Jenna! Just when the questions started getting good, her poor cooking skills had to interrupt him. Bonnie couldn't hide her relief - not when it was as plain as day - but Damon's smirk only soured as he headed inside. "How does your aunt even manage _that_?" He grumbled to himself. "Must not be cleaning the pots right..."

"Hey!" He could hear Jenna call from the kitchen. "I heard that, Day!"

"Day?" Bonnie looked quizzically at him. "That a family nickname?"

"Kind of." Jeremy's frown only intensified, no doubt from Bonnie's newfound interest in his older brother. "Damon's family, but he's not blood related. He and Jenna were really close, and he and my dad were close, so Stefan and he became family too."

Had it come from any other emo teenager, the explanation might have sounded bitter. Despite Jeremy's dour appearance and grumpy expression, his respectful tone spoke volumes. The kid loved Damon, even when it seemed like Day wanted his girl.

So Damon lightly elbowed his kid brother. "Hey. Life too hard for you again?"

"Nnnno," Jeremy responded, rolling his eyes in the over-the-top manner only teenagers could pull off. "It's just... she bought some stuff from me, and I kind of ran out so I brought her back here and then you just kind of came in and..."

"She bought 'some stuff' from you."

Damon must've said it more harshly than he realized, because Jeremy's eyes widened before the kid ducked his head. "Nevermind. You wouldn't get it, anyways."

"Try me." Damon pulled on the kid's arm even harder, turning so that he could slam the poor kid against the wall. "Let's start this conversation again. _What_ did Bonnie Bennett buy from you today?"

"Iiiiiiii think I'm gonna go." Bonnie started to edge towards the door, making awkward hand gestures towards it and the outside world. "I can always come back later--"

"DON'T." Both shouted, in an eerie unison that didn't quite match their rage. Damon extended an arm - not that he needed to - and calmly waved a hand in her face. Bonnie staggered back, leaning on the nearest table for support.

Jeremy instinctively reached out towards her, only to be stopped by Damon's iron grip. "Whoa. A-are you okay?"

"She'll be fine." Damon let out a snarl as he pulled Jeremy back towards him. "Again, what did she buy? Because I swear to god, if you were stupid enough to sell prescription..."

"It wasn't," Bonnie interjected, with genuine concern in her voice. "I just compelled him to think it was."

Damon turned his head to face her. "Oh?"

"Let him go, Damon. I know you care about him, but this time, it was entirely my fault." There was an unspoken statement - that she wasn't out to hurt an innocent - and it was enough for Damon to temporarily drop his guard.

"Did you ask him because you thought he might lead you to something?"

"Yeah." She stepped closer, almost stumbling over the nearest family portrait of Jeremy and Elena. The guilt was only barely gnawing at his chest. "And he did," she said, with another glance at the picture, "so _please_ don't beat him up over whatever stupid drug deals he thought he made today."

Damon silently looked her over, before he finally acquiesced and let Jeremy go. "Fine. Are you...?"

Jeremy stared at both of them with quiet terror in his eyes. "What the hell are you two talking about?"

Bonnie stepped between them and stared directly into Jeremy's eyes. Watching as his pupils dilated, she then calmly stated, "We were arguing over the game. You've never seen me before. We've never met. If you even see me after we leave, I'm one of Damon's friends." She gestured towards Jeremy, as if to silently ask if Damian had anything to add.

Damon shook his head. He had never been a fan of mentally altering someone's memories, even if it was for a greater cause. "Leave him alone. Get whatever info you need and leave town, or else."

"Or else you'll make my brain go pop?"

He snorted. "Much worse than that." Still, she had actually expressed concern for a mere muggle like Jeremy. Not many vampires wandered around with their souls laid bare for the world to see. "You may not be here to kill people, but I'm not entirely convinced you're good either."

"That's your choice to make," she said softly, releasing Jeremy from her gaze and turning on her heels. "I hope it's a good one, for your sake."

Just as she headed out the front door and closed it behind her, Aunt Jenna peered up from the oven. "Was that Jeremy's friend? Shame she had to leave so early."

"Yeah," Damon tepidly agreed, his gaze more focused on the (clearly confused) Jeremy. "It really was."

 

 

 

 

 

Other than Jenna burning the hot water, Taco Night was a smashing success. Stefan and Elena came through the back door halfway through; Jenna had prepped her famous cheesecake; and Damon had only finished half a bottle of whiskey. Jeremy, of course, had stolen the bottle and stashed it in another part of the house. It had taken one hell of a locator spell to find it again because that boy was becoming more thorough than a hibernating squirrel.

"I don't know how you do it," Jer groaned, watching as Damon had unearthed yet another bottle from the bathroom cabinet. "Day, I'm seriously starting to worry about you."

Stefan, on the other hand, was impressed. "If you sign him up for the 12 Step Plan again, he might win an award for the most attempts in a year."

"Yeah, because you idiots keep giving me pamphlets!" Damon heaved the loudest groan he could manage, which was hard, considering his kid brothers weren't even trying to contain their (obnoxious, contagious) laughter.

"Maybe these _idiots_ wouldn't give you pamphlets if you didn't have a problem," Elena teased, leaning over to grab his plate. "After all, isn't the first step acceptance?"

He nearly swatted her in retaliation. Jenna tsked at him, like she wasn't the one who encouraged his boozy habits in high school, before she too burst into uncontrollable laughter. Some nights, Damon would whine about what he did to deserve these losers - but now he wasn't so sure they deserved him.

Stefan rose to his feet to help her with the dishes. "I'm gonna head out later. Damon, you can go on ahead."

Damon grinned. "Okay, but you're not allowed to spend the night over either." Jeremy and Jenna just exchanged knowing glances, as Damon finished off his glass of water and reached for the keys. As much as Damon loved his kid brother, boundaries were kind of appropriate at this age. "Trust me, I'll know."

Stefan shook his head in mock exasperation. "How considerate of you."

"I know, right?" Damon lightly ran his hands through Stefan's gelled, impeccable hair before heading out the door. While he never doubted that the kid would come home eventually, he also figured this would be a good time to rummage through the basement archives. Clearly, Bonnie had done her homework on him, so he figured it was only appropriate for him to do the same.

If she was a Bennett, her records would be somewhere in the 'B' section. Dad had been particularly meticulous about his files - moreso than Stefan sometimes - so locating each one on his tablet wasn't hard. Damon hadn't thought to scan every volume, so after he had exhausted his hard drive, he reached for another set of keys and headed downstairs.

They had just recently renovated their basement so it less resembled old slave quarters and more a family den, with an extra counter bar and stove for visitors (and alchemy). Dad had said they should enter the 21st century with grace, but if Damon were honest, he was certain Dad wanted to assuage the family's White Guilt. The Salvatores had kept thorough, detailed records of every white settler that had crossed this town - but as Damon slowly realized, every other race might as well have not existed. Which was increasingly problematic when the girl he was chasing also happened to be black.

Not even the slave purchase receipts yielded much. Their messy handwriting didn't help, and Damon didn't know how much Giuseppe penned about the family slaves. The Salvatores had owned a decent-sized plantation, after all. Giuseppe wasn't exactly close with any of them - or so Damon had thought.

A couple of old photos, tucked away in a weather-worn journal, had yielded him some clues. One picture showed Giuseppe playing the piano with great gusto, with his "handmaiden" Miss Bonnie holding the piano pages for him. Even though they must've been standing still for hours, Damon could see the faint traces of smiles on their faces. Miss Bonnie - the slave in the photo - had perfectly resembled the girl in the town square, right down to the dimples in her cheeks. The other, slightly torn on the edges, was Giuseppe holding some young lady's arm. Dust obscured her face, but they seemed relatively happy, from the tightness of her grip on his arm. Thinking nothing of it, Damon pocketed the journal and photos, locked the files, and headed upstairs.

Just as he was about to lock the basement archives, he noticed Stefan precariously watching from the corner of his eye.

"Did Dad ask you to get something?"

Of course. It must've been the only reason Damon dared to venture into the scary archives, to grab one of Dad's old tax returns. How many years had he spoon-fed that stupid lie to his brother? Damon wasn't sure, and he wasn't certain he wanted to know.

"Um, yeah," Damon said slowly, tucking the photos into his inner coat pocket. "He said he needed me to scan it before I headed to bed."

Now daring to properly face his little brother, Damon could only guess as to the reason Stefan was here, with Damon's favorite lemon bars and decaffeinated black tea. Stefan wanted something big; the question was just what he wanted.

"Do I need to sign more papers for Model UN?" He asked jokingly, staring at the homemade lemon bar. "Because I think I can kill two more trees for you."

Stefan cracked a hint of a smile, despite the obvious worry in his eyes. "No, not at all... though I'm gonna hold you to that one." He'd better; Damon's tree-killing skills didn't always come for free. "I actually wanted to ask you about something. You know a lot about psychics and magic and stuff, right?"

Uh-oh. Damon braced himself for the inevitable - for the lies he'd have to utter just to keep Dad's promise - before Stefan goes, "Because I was reading this novel about alchemists, and I swear, their powers don't sound right. Can you... hear me out a little?"

"Yeah." Damon's shoulders sagged with relief. "Come on, I've got to re-read a paper, but you can tell me all about it in the den." As much as he hated grad school, he didn't have to face the real world while he attended seminars. He could pretend - for just a few years - that he didn't have the greater responsibility of raising a seventeen year old boy.

Stefan followed him into the den, set Damon's late-night snack on the table, and relayed him the plot of this new novel he was reading. "There's this guy who's descended from a family that practices alchemy," Stefan began, lightly tracing a spiral pattern on the table. He glanced up at Damon, quickly amending, "Or at least, he doesn't think he is. Then he starts having these really weird dreams, you know? He sees these numbers popping up in his head all the time - 8, 14, 22. I've read a ton of crappy alchemy novels, Damon, and I can't remember a single one where a budding one gets premonitions."

Stefan was right about one thing: typically, alchemists didn't receive omens about the future. That was a warlock's (or wizard's) territory. Dad had hoped that the gene would skip Stefan, that somehow he and Mom wouldn't pass down their gift for magic down... but Damon was starting to wonder if the gift had simply chosen to manifest itself later.

"Alchemists don't, yeah," Damon replied slowly, reaching for the mug of tea. "Psychics get dreams, and sometimes, wizards do too. It kind of depends. Did this guy end up not being an alchemist?"

"Uh..." Stefan's eyes widened, as he stared up at the ceiling, at the clock, at anything that might give him inspiration. "You know what? I have no idea. I didn't exactly get that far."

"You might want to come back to me after the story's over," Damon said with a small chuckle, taking a sip of his tea. Mm, Stefan was getting good at brewing it. "I can't really help you with their skillsets if you haven't gotten halfway through."

"Y-yeah, I guess you're right." Stefan cautiously rose to his feet. "Just out of curiosity, what do you think numbers like that mean?"

In his case? "They're important somehow," Damon ventured to guess. "I don't really know _how_ without context, but I'd be careful. That character should keep his eyes peeled, because a detail like that isn't put into the narrative for no reason."

Stefan nodded, with the urgency that almost made Damon wish he were testing his brother on this information. The kid should've had a notebook, from the way he was soaking in every word. "Yeah, definitely. You... you don't think the psychic or wizard or whatever's going crazy? That may he worked himself too hard trying to stay ahead in school?"

"No." Damon's entire expression softened, as he broke off a piece of his lemon bar and handed it over to Stefan. "I don't think so. The kid's confused, and scared, but I think those numbers keep popping up in his dreams for a reason, and he should listen to his gut instincts. Those don't usually prove him wrong."

"Thanks." Stefan accepted the lemon bar, taking care to bow his head in gratitude towards his older brother. As much as Damon loved to complain about Stef, he had to admit, his kid bro usually had a good head on his shoulders. "I... uh, I'm sorry if I kept you from working on your thesis. I know it's important."

Damon snorted softly. "Not like I was going to get much done anyhow. You gave me my favorite distractions."

Stefan's smile grew wider, as if Damon had just praised him to the moon, before he turned to leave. Just then, Damon thought he could hear the kid sigh with relief. He must've imagined it, because when he looked up at his brother's retreating figure, all he could sense was the kid's typical brooding attitude. Maybe... maybe he had just misinterpreted the kid's blooming gift for a crappy YA novel.

"Hey! Stefan?"

"Hm?" Stef stopped at the railing, leaning forward to look at his brother better. "What's up?"

"What's the title of the book you're reading? I want to take a crack at it later."

Stef laughed nervously. "You sure? It's not that great."

"Very sure." At the very least, it'd be good for a laugh.

"Um... _The Pulse Towards Tomorrow_." Stefan's shoulders tensed as he gripped the rail just a bit tighter. "I think? I'm remembering the title wrong."

"It's cool." Damon jotted the title down, more for show than any actual intent to find the book. As most grad students knew all too well, he didn't have time to read books for pleasure. "Thanks for the heads-up, bro."

"Sure." Stefan headed into his room and gently closed the door behind him.

Damon took one look at the paper he was supposed to be reading, before sighing and impatiently closing the tab. Stefan might have apologized for distracting Damon, but honestly - after the whole ordeal with Bonnie - anything would've been better than some boring article on Jungian psychology. Facing Your Inner Shadow, bah. With the way his life was going, there'd be more problems than his darkest thoughts by Saturday.

 

 

 

 

 

Two days later, Damon finally found the time to run the title through a Google search. As he suspected, _The Pulse Towards Tomorrow_ wasn't a novel about a budding alchemist. It wasn't even a novel: it was a song from some Japanese video game Jeremy liked. While it was certainly catchy - and his Japanese coworker was thoroughly befuddled - the discovery didn't surprise Damon. Stefan didn't lie without some kind of purpose. Those numbers must've meant a lot more to him than he was letting on.

When Damon had first discovered his powers, he was an angry high school sophomore who desperately wanted acceptance. He had this massive crush on Sheena McCullough, this girl in his History class, and he wanted her to like him so _badly_ that he had dark, desperate thoughts about the poor girl's beau. While everyone has dark thoughts every once in a while, Damon wasn't justifying the pain he wanted to inflict on the kid. Especially not when he woke up one morning and heard that Mr. Logan Fell had harrowingly escaped death. The cause - an explosion from his new, shiny car - had shaken Damon to the core. He had dreamed of hot-wiring that car; of ensuring that Logan would never worm his way into Sheena's heart; and snatching Sheena as his very own at Prom.

Those dark hopes were dashed when in his haste to get to school, his hands had slipped and he'd set the kitchen table on fire. Mom only had to take one look at the fire and the horror in Damon's eyes before she calmly closed her eyes and quenched the flames with her willpower.

" _It's okay, gattino,_ " she had told him, holding him in her arms and letting him cry on her shoulder. " _You're going to get through this. Everything will be alright._ "

At the time, he hadn't felt like it. He almost killed Logan Fell over some stupid girl! What more proof did he need of his incompetence, if he couldn't even land a date? Yet when he walked into school the next morning, smug Logan had just sneered at him in homeroom, and Mason had tripped the kid over without another word.

" _He deserved it, man,_ " Mason had said, as their teacher furiously scribbled down their detention slips. " _Don't regret it one bit._ " His silent support had encouraged Damon to not only stay in school, but also continue to participate in varsity soccer. Without friends like Mason and Jenna, Damon wasn't so sure where he'd be today.

Mom would've known what to tell Stefan. She would've known that her little Stefanizo was growing up, and that he could wield his powers responsibly. She would know to look at him and tell him that he was the strongest little fighter she'd ever seen. Dad may not have vocalized his support, but he would have given Stefan a blank leather-bound journal and told him to start writing his own spells, in the exact same manner he had told Damon. Stefan deserved that kind of moral support. It was a damn shame his parents weren't around when he needed them most.

Damon stared at his phone blankly, hovering over his parents' European number. Logically, he should call them. They'd appreciate a heads-up. Heck, maybe Mom could tell him what to do! After a whole minute of hesitation, he dialed their number. Unsurprisingly, he got their voice mail.

"Hey, Mom and Dad. Just wanted to say that Stef's been feeling kind of crazy lately. I think he might be developing you-know-what, so call me whenever you're free."

He hung up, only to stare straight at his coworker's face. "What?" Damon mouthed at her. "First you question my taste in Japanese music, and now you think my bro's got a STD or something? Deal with it, Misao."

Misao's eyes widened, but she said nothing as she disappeared back under mounds of paperwork. God, he'd made a fool of himself again, but at least it wasn't for a stupid cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Pulse Towards Tomorrow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w3d4pt9jPxQ) is a real J-pop song (and the opening to Sen no Kiseki), if you're curious as to what got Damon such strange looks at work... 
> 
> (Mostly, it means Jeremy Gilbert has strange taste in video games that didn't exist in 2009.)


	3. visions

Stefan had sent Damon a text halfway through the school day.

Car broke down. Mind giving me and Tyler a ride home after Model UN? I asked Elena, but she had a cheer competition.

Damon only took one look at the text before he sighed. As much as he loved his brother, Stefan had terrible taste in friends. Mason Lockwood may have made poor life choices most of the time, but Mason had a good heart. Mason's kid nephew Tyler, on the other hand, lacked sound moral judgment. Not like Damon expected anything better from Dickwood's only son.

Stefan saw some diamond in the rough that needed a bit of polish, and for better or worse, the two had remained fast friends. Tyler often defended Stef from bullies, and in exchange, Stefan tutored Tyler in Biology and English. Their friendship had systematically broken just about every high school clique barrier known to mankind. If Damon hadn't witnessed it himself, he would've claimed that it was straight out of some kids' TV show.

sure. i get out at 5, so see you around 5:45?

Sounds good. We'll see you then. :)

 

 

 

 

 

Right at 5:45, Damon parked in front of the main entrance of Mystic Falls High and waited for Stefan and Tyler Lockwood to meet him. Not even two minutes later, the boys barreled out the door towards the car. Tyler lacked Mason's height - he was about four inches shorter - but what they didn't share in stature, they shared in facial features. Tyler was growing into that Lockwood jaw, and for a brief second, Damon was reminded of his athletic best friend who didn't give a damn about the world.

Then Tyler gave Damon a casual salute, jolting Damon back to reality. Stefan greeted Damon warmly, with his body leaning slightly forwards as he approached his older brother. "Hey. Sorry, I should've told you I gave Tyler a ride this morning."

"It's cool." Damon shrugged, opening the doors for them. "What happened to your car?"

"I'm... not really sure." Stefan pressed his lips together. "It kind of spontaneously combusted from the inside."

"He saw that new girl make a move on Elena, all lesbian-like," Tyler said with a chuckle, licking his lips as he tossed his backpack inside. "And then bam! The car's engine and tires melted - like, onto the ground - and the parking lot starts to crack, like there's a big earthquake. I figure it was a freak heatwave kind of thing." Noticing Damon's furrowed brow, Tyler added hastily, "No one was hurt, man. Only a melted engine and some Quarterbacks unable to take their cars out of the lot."

Just like when he'd watched Logan mack on Sheena one too many times... except worse, because Logan's car had never melted into the asphalt. Damon cast a wary look towards Stefan. "New girl?"

"Yeah, she was all up in Elena's face." Stefan's face darkened, hunching forward as he pressed his elbows against his knees. "Asking her about the classes they shared, wondering if she was free after school... I know you're supposed to be nice to the new kid, but this girl took it to a new level. Like, almost-asked-her-out kind of level." He gripped his keys tighter, intently staring at them as if they were the most important thing in the world. Damon knew better than to tease Stefan about his mood - even if it didn't suit his (usually) brooding brother.

"She says she's Mrs. Bennett's grandkid," Tyler added after a moment, his glance shifting from Stefan to Damon. "Do you know her? Bonnie Bennett? I haven't seen Ms. Abby for a couple of years, but... I think we would've known if she had other kids."

So Bonnie was planning on staying in town for a while. Great, just what Damon needed: a centuries old high school student actually following through on her job description.

"I... maybe?" Damon strained to affect some confusion in his voice, as if the name came as a total surprise to him. "I'd have to double-check. How'd Model UN go?"

"Eh." Tyler pressed his lips together and quickly but casually shook his hand from left to right multiple times. While Tyler had never been the best at school, he had usually enjoyed politics (even the pretend kind). "We both got what we wanted - Security Council and Press - but we won't be on the same committee."

Stefan rolled his eyes. "Better than being on General Assembly. Remember when we had to represent Malaysia, and you didn't realize it was a Muslim country for two whole months? Right up until we were about to leave for Richmond, and then Mrs. Smallwood asks if we thought about dietary restrictions..."

Blood immediately rushed to Tyler's face, causing his cheeks to burn a bright red. "How was I supposed to know?"

"Gee, I would've guessed the call to prayers five times a day made it obvious."

Damon snorted. Sometimes, the Lockwoods seemed so distantly related, and sometimes, they were two identical peas in a pod. God bless that family and their astounding ignorance of world affairs. While Damon still wasn't familiar with the schematics of Model UN, he figured he'd catch an explanation later. Carefully, he scanned the parking lot. "Stef, when did you call the shop? I don't see your car here."

Stefan relaxed his stance slightly, leaning back in his seat. "During lunch. Elena offered us a ride home, but they've got a competition in Whitechapel." Normally Stefan didn't miss a single one. The kid must've been mortified for him to openly acknowledge that he would stay home, rather than watch his girlfriend and childhood friend (and fellow shallow cheerleader) dance their hearts out. Said shallow cheerleader - Caroline - would acknowledge it for sure. If she spent any more time with Damon, he swore, he would lose more brain cells in a month than most people did in a lifetime. "I would've stuck around, but..."

Elena asked him to stay home. Any sane person would've insisted upon it, no matter how stubborn her boyfriend could've been.

"But you promised me you'd keep me company at our first meeting," Tyler said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I really don't know why Dad insists I do these things."

"Maybe because he thinks you'd be good at it?" Stefan's expression looked almost hopeful for a second there.

Tyler snorted. "After the Malaysian debacle? It's a miracle I'm still part of the delegation."

"Considering you just used debacle correctly, there's hope for you after all," Damon responded cheerfully. Even from the rearview mirror, he could see Tyler scowling at him like an angry puppy. "What're your plans for tonight, guys? Wild homework parties?"

Stefan shot him a mystified look. "On a Friday night? More like wild sleepover parties with thrilling action flicks."

It was Friday already? No wonder Misao had rushed out of the office in a hurry - she must've had a hot date. For the first time this month, Damon had no big plans for the weekend. Some weeks, he and Mason had Skype dates with an episode of police procedurals; others, he and Jenna would hit Richmond and for just one night, they could pretend they were two normal 20-somethings out on the prowl. Occasionally, Damon relaxed with a good action thriller and some popcorn. Before Bonnie waltzed into town, Damon would've said that he wanted something more exciting. He would've wanted to live in New York, LA, or Boston or just - or just somewhere that entertained him at all hours of the day. Now, however, a movie sounded like the low-key kind of evening he needed.

Damon snorted. "Like the time you marathoned an entire season of _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_?"

"Those turtles were slamming," Tyler said just as cheerfully, holding up his fingers in an outdated 'cowbunga' motion. "If I remember correctly, a certain someone stuck around for a couple of episodes."

Yeah, against his will!

Completely ignoring Damon's insult towards his show, Stefan released his grasp of Tyler's hand. "Well, do you have plans? If you don't, you could watch something with us. I was thinking a Charlie Chaplin, but Tyler wants something made in the last decade. You'd be the tiebreaker."

"Aw, you sure you wouldn't be up for a good Disney movie? I hear all the girls loved _Enchanted_. Or _Snow White_ , if we're gonna live in 1935."

Stefan smothered a smile, despite his current frustration at the world. "Didn't Elena have to drag you to the theater by the arms?"

Tyler chuckled, hiding his amused expression behind a hand. "He's got you there, man."

Busted by the one girl on Earth who managed to make him a weak kitten when she wasn't even trying. While Jenna had boosted his confidence, 'Lena had been his adorable little sister who tried too hard to grow up (and even when she tried to act sexy, she just couldn't). Damon shook his head, "Then something made in the last decade. We've seen _Modern Times_ way too much."

For a teenage boy, Stefan's tastes sure strayed towards the ancient. No wonder he got along so well with Dad! Just when Damon was certain that his evening plans were cemented with babysitting the boys, his phone buzzed. Stefan reached for it - and in that instant, his eyes widened.

"Wh-what is it?" Tyler peered, snapping in front of Stefan's face. "Earth to Stefan?"

"Oh." Stefan listlessly stared down at Damon's phone. "When I touched you, I saw... a streetlamp. I saw fog, two girls, and those numbers again. 8, 14, 22."

"Hoookay, I think you're out of it." Tyler furrowed his brows in deep thought.

Those words were Damon's cue to drive home faster. Whatever plans he had with the boys could wait. Right now, he needed to drop them off and figure out just what the hell fog, a streetlamp, two girls, and the numbers 8, 14, and 22 had to do with each other. "You might want a nap first, Stef. Who texted me?"

Stefan shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Uh, Jenna. She wanted to know if you could join her at the Grille tonight to celebrate her big presentation."

"Depends. Do you guys want me to stick around or not?"

"Go ahead." Tyler nodded fervently, watching as Stefan typed back a reply. "We'll still be here when you get done." The boys had a point. Usually, when Tyler came over on a Friday night, Tyler crashed on Stef's bed and stayed until mid-Saturday morning (or earlier, if there was sports practice). He paused for a second. "No booze for us either. Not with Stefan being this out of it."

"I'm not going crazy," Stefan protested quietly, placing the phone back in Damon's pocket. "At least, I don't think I am."

Damon could feel his heart slowly crumbling into pieces. "Of course you're not," he replied just as softly and gently. "You're going to be alright, Stefanizo."

His kid brother sat up straighter, staring at his older brother with grateful eyes. "Th-thanks."

"It's the truth." Even as Damon kept his eyes focused on the road ahead, he couldn't help sneaking a peek at Stefan. The kid was genuinely shell-shocked, like he couldn't believe his older brother's affection for him. Gee, maybe Damon should've made it more obvious over the years. (Or not.) "Just text me if you losers need anything before I get back."

Parking near the Manor's curb, Damon unlocked the door and watched as the boys headed inside. Once he was certain that they'd safely locked the door, he drove off. Normally, he wouldn't have left Stefan in Tyler's hands... but something about Tyler tonight felt different. Maybe Dickwood Jr. cared more for his friends than he let on.

 

 

 

 

 

Every Friday Night, the Grille bustled with activity. Nearly everyone hung out here, when they didn't feel like staying at home with popcorn and a movie. As Damon stepped through the front double doors, he remembered exactly why he hated this town. He recognized everyone - and he did mean everyone, from Logan Scumfell to Mr. and Mrs. Dickwood - without missing a beat. This town, if he weren't careful, could easily suffocate him.

Since there wasn't a football game tonight, most of the high school set were also here. Damon could see some of Jeremy and some of his classmates playing a game of pool. For once, that kid wasn't stuck at home playing one of those obscure Japanese video games.

"Hey," one of the waitresses said as she came forward.

Damon glanced over at her, pursing his lips when he realized just who was serving him tonight. Tall, brunette, and Jeremy's backstabber in the flesh. Vicki Donovan wasn't exactly someone Damon wanted to be around. Sure, she meant well, and Damon pitied any child of wild Kelly Donovan, but she had hurt Jeremy badly over the summer. Although Jeremy refused to disclose details, his haggard expressions and lethargic manner had spoken for him. Anyone that hurt Jeremy was on Damon's instant blacklist, no questions asked. Maybe that's why Jeremy was keeping his distance - he had memorized her shift schedule. 

"Hey, Vick." Damon gave her a polite nod of acknowledgement. "What's good tonight?"

She shrugged, affecting as much apathy as she could, considering that she was stuck here on a Friday night. Most kids would disappear to some wild party after dinner - Damon knew from experience - and as much as he loved some underage booze, these kids needed something better in their lives. Couldn't they have a Battle of the Bands or something? Kids liked those outside of bad movies, right?

"The burgers, I guess?" She reached forward and grabbed him a menu. "You'll probably get the usual."

"But of course." Damon smirked, waving the menu away from his face. As much as he loved food, he was pretty peculiar about how it was prepared. As long as the Grille didn't stray from it - or "forgot" to serve him some bourbon - he would be a happy camper.

Vicki glanced cursorily at the tables. "You sitting alone?"

"With Jenna, actually." Damon followed her gaze and groaned internally when he couldn't find his best friend anywhere. In true Sommers fashion, his girl still hadn't arrived. The traffic up by Whitmore must've been worse than usual. "Or well, we planned on sitting together."

He heard the door click, and an all-too familiar voice calling, "Here! Sorry! I'm right here!"

Damon held his tongue, desperately biting back the first witty thing that came to mind. "Hey, Jenna."

She tugged at her violet cardigan, stepping forward so that she was right beside him. "Table for two, Vicki?"

Vicki's entire face lit up the moment she saw Jenna's hand brush against his. Damon swore, if anyone thought they were a couple again, he might actually hex someone. Turning towards the seating area, Vicki swayed slightly in rhythm with the pop song playing overhead. "Sure thing. Follow me!"

She ushered them to an empty booth, setting the menus down as they sat down. As usual, Damon ignored the menu, telling her, "Can you get me a Coke and Jenna an Iced Tea with lemon?" Vicki nodded, heading back towards the bar.

Jenna raised an eyebrow. "I'm impressed."

"You really shouldn't be." Damon leaned forward on the table, resting his elbows as he better looked at her. Jenna must've been worried about her presentation today, to curl her hair and cake on an additional layer of make-up. Not that she really needed it; she was beautiful even in her pink kitten pajamas. "We've known each other for how many years now? I'd be more surprised if I didn't know what you liked."

"Yeah, well, I don't see you ordering drinks for Mason."

"Mason also lives in Florida." Damon shot her an exasperated look. "Maybe if we were at Disney World, I'd surprise him with a Sprite on the rocks..."

"He still orders that?" Jenna giggled, leaning back in her seat and reaching for a menu. "You'd think one of his many, many girlfriends would've taught him better."

"Apparently not."

The chatter around them slowly started to fade. Damon had noticed the various cliques running in and out: the cheerleaders were starting to trickle inside; the geeks had commandeered a table for some card game; the drama club was arguing passionately about a script; the stoners (Jeremy included) had seized the pool table for a game; and some group Damon couldn't identify was by the dartboard.

He recognized the girl with the darts before he recognized her friends. She narrowed her eyes, holding her arm steady before throwing it squarely in the bullseye. Her companion, a blond jock, held his arm up for a hi-five. "Bonnie, that was awesome!"

"Aw, thanks Matt!" She returned the hi-five, turning to grab another set of darts. Just as she got the box, her eyes met Damon's.

Damon hastily tore his gaze away from her. As much as he hated the bloodsucker, she wasn't actively killing anyone, and he was technically here to celebrate with Jenna. If she hadn't asked him, he'd be home, making sure that Stefan took the nap he so badly needed. Just in case, Damon sent Tyler a text.

If Stef's napping, help yourself to whatever. Thanks for watching him.

Tyler responded mere seconds later:

thanks bro. stef's been asleep for a while. if he's not up by 9 i'll grab something from the kitchen myself

Jenna peered over at the phone. "Checking up on Stefan?"

Damon nodded, allowing his shoulders to sag with relief. "Yeah, Tyler's babysitting him." Which sounded kind of weird coming from his lips, considering how much Damon hated Tyler, but Tyler was also Mason's kid nephew. If Damon couldn't trust Dickwood Jr., then by extension, he didn't trust Mason much either.

Jenna nodded in understanding. "Tyler's a good kid. I kinda feel bad that I couldn't make Elena's cheer competition..." She stared guiltily at Jeremy, watching as he sunk some pool balls into the net.

"In Whitechapel?" Damon lazily followed her line of sight. "Elena said they suck this year." Or maybe that was Fell's Church. Damon didn't exactly pay Elena much attention when she went on one of her crazy cheerleading spiels. He had intended to reassure Jenna, but she just slumped further into her seat.

"Yeah, well, Miranda and Grayson always went. Videotaped the whole thing too - or at least, put Jeremy in charge of it. Not sure why he's back early..."

As if right on cue, Jeremy set his pool stick down and headed back towards them. "Did something happen? You two look like you just killed someone."

Damon leaned back in his seat and bared his teeth as much as he could. "Yeah, it was fantastic. You should've seen where we stashed the body."

Jeremy rolled his eyes. "In the trunk, right? It's always the trunk." Turning towards Jenna, he stuffed his hands lazily in his sweatshirt pocket. "The competition ended early. I got the entire thing on tape, by the way. Elena and Caroline said they'd drop by later, if you and Damon'll be around then."

"They let you come by yourself?" Damon asked, in mock incredulity.

"I'm not five." Jeremy snorted. "You guys seen Vicki yet? I thought she was serving you guys."

Come to think of it, she hadn't returned with their drinks. Jenna shook her head. "Not in the last ten minutes or so. I don't think she normally takes this long." She really didn't, especially when she indirectly supported a couple. Her affection was almost nauseating – and Damon would know, considering how much she had fawned over her kid brother's new girl these past few months.

Damon turned his head towards the bar. He recognized the bartender, Ben, from various school functions, but Vicki was absolutely nowhere to be seen. "I'll check up on her." He rose from his seat, heading towards the front of the restaurant.

"She might be on a smoke break!" Jeremy called a little too loudly, causing the blond jock with Bonnie to narrow his eyes at the poor kid. Jeremy just glowered at him in return before scooting next to Jenna. "What? Matt, you know she likes her cigarettes."

It was official: Mystic Falls really needed some kind of cultural activity that wasn't drugs, cigarettes, or wild teen parties. Damon tilted his head at her. "How do you know?"

Jeremy nervously rubbed his elbows. "Long story."

"You memorized her work schedule?"

Jeremy winced. "Why would you think that?"

Damon just sighed before tapping the nearest waitress on the shoulder and asking about Vicki. ("Nope, sorry," one of them called, casually pouring water for one table.) He moved onto the next - "check the back" - and he'd maybe just started to ask the third before he stared at the small crowd of people milling by the door. Just how understaffed was this place?

He headed out the front door, casually brushing past Elena and one of her bubbly, blond friends as he surveyed the front entrance. A couple was quietly kissing on the bench, and a few townspeople passed them on the way to some church event... beyond them, no one was in sight.

"Probably in the back," Damon grumbled to himself quietly, heading towards the alleyway behind the restaurant. As he did, a light fog settled over the city. Weird. He would've remembered it raining earlier. He involuntarily glanced up at the Grille's lights. In the fog, they were indistinguishable from the lamp posts. Inhaling sharply, he then clasped his hands together and broke through the low-hanging clouds. Just as the mist subsided, he watched as a girl seductively stepped closer towards someone else. "Aw, you sure you don't remember anything?"

"I already told you, I don't! I don't know anything about your mom or that stupid tomb!" Vicki shrunk back underneath the square's clock, holding her arms out protectively.

Damon couldn't move quickly enough; the fog settled again, just as the newcomer bit straight into Vicki's neck. Damon could just barely make out the red '22' embroidered on her sleeve as she savored each sip.

He pushed through the fog and focused his attention on the newcomer. She howled, clutching her brain as she released her meal to the ground.

As the clouds disappeared again, she forcibly looked up, glaring at Damon as she mouthed, "You're next." Lowering her head, so that she could hide behind her mane of wavy, jet-black hair, she then pushed Damon backwards before running off.

There wasn't time to focus on the vampire. Involuntarily glancing up at the clock, Damon stared blankly at the time. 8:14 PM. Shit. Shitshitshit, this was so not what he envisioned when Stefan had lost his marbles. Cautiously, Damon reached for his phone and mentally recited a protection ward before feeling her pulse. Good, he could hear her heartbeat. Just in case, he channeled some of his energy into her to ensure she'd fight long enough to reach the hospital.

"Vicki? Vicki!"

Jeremy frantically ran out the back entrance, turning his head in every direction before he finally noticed Damon – and the young woman lying beside him. He stopped straight in his tracks, hesitantly kneeling beside her. Before Damon could even react, Jeremy had already scooped her into his arms. It must've been the adrenaline - normally, this kid couldn't even benchpress 25 pounds.

"What're you staring at? Call 911, Damon!"

Damon could only stare at the blood streaming down from her neck. Even with all of his magic, he couldn't protect one innocent human. Struggling to keep his hands steady, he shakily pulled out his phone and called for emergency services. "Hi? Yes, I'd like to call an ambulance in front of the Mystic Grille, we've got a girl with acute blood loss..."

As he was straightening details, Jeremy motioned for him to move to the front of the restaurant. Carrying her as quickly as he could, Jeremy hiccuped, his gaze focused on his ex-girlfriend's face. "I-is she gonna be okay? I-I thought she was taking forever with the drinks, and she never takes this long, and… and…" His voice cracked. "I'm sorry I left Jenna, but I…"

Damon wanted so badly to ruffle the kid's hair and reassure him that everything would be alright, but honestly, he wasn't entirely sure. Not when he had just learned that there were two little high school vampires running around. Even though Vicki's blood had clotted by now, she hadn't opened her eyes. Damon couldn't exactly determine if she'd joined the grand world of the undead without alerting Jeremy to his intentions. "I hope so. Let's see when the paramedics get here."

Jeremy slowly nodded, with a solemnity that Damon really wished he could forget. Jeremy was what, 14? He was too young to have such haunted eyes. An ambulance had rolled up in front of them, and as the siren continued to wail, a crowd started to form near the door. Damon could make out Jenna's, Elena's, and Bonnie's confused faces as he and Jeremy gently placed Vicki on the stretcher.

Matt – Vicki's poor kid brother - rushed straight to them. "Vicki?! Vicki?" Then his piercing glare turned on Damon. "What happened?"

"We don't know, man," Jeremy called in defense, rushing to take the brunt of Matt's verbal abuse.

Damon gently pushed Jeremy to the side. "Neck piercing gone wrong? I'd say an animal attack, but we're downtown..."

"Hasn't stopped some of the more vicious ones before." Matt lowered his fists, inhaling sharply and turning to face the paramedics. "Is... is she going to be okay?"

"We hope so," one of the paramedics called, motioning for Matt to follow them inside. "It's too early to tell."

Bonnie, still slack-jawed with horror, immediately pushed back through the crowd and fled through the side. ("Bonnie!" he could hear Elena call, as she too chased after her. "Bonnie, it's okay to be scared!") Damon watched them run past the stunned bystanders and towards the forest before he gently embraced Jeremy.

"If you even say it's gonna be okay..." Jeremy clung to Damon's shirt, nearly suffocating him as he rested his head on Damon's shoulder.

Damon forcefully bit down on his tongue. Thankfully, Matt spoke up for Damon just as he sat down in the ambulance. "What if I say it, Jeremy? Huh?"

Despite the tears streaming down Jeremy's face, he held the smallest trace of a smile. "Then you're just as terrible."

Matt and Damon exchanged knowing smiles before the door slammed shut and the ambulance sped back to the hospital. Jenna rushed towards them, pushing through a circle of onlookers before she wrapped her arms around her nephew. "I'll get you home."

Reluctantly letting go, Jeremy slung an arm across Jenna's shoulders. "Y-yeah."

Jenna pursed her lips, bowing her head slightly as she looked at Damon. "Let's take a raincheck?"

"Sounds good." He dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand. "I'll check on Elena and her friend before I head home - and give her a ride if I need to." For once, Tyler and Stefan had the good sense to miss all the excitement.

"Got it. See you Tuesday!" Jenna called, ushering Jeremy back to her car.

Damon waited for them to drive off before he tore towards the forest. While Bonnie may have not been the thirsty bloodsucker looking for a drink tonight, she'd lead him straight to Elena and the answers he sought.


	4. chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting's finally working in my favor here! Just a note: unlike Bonnie, Damon prefers to cast his spells in Italian – and since I don't speak Italian well, please let me know if any of Damon's spells don't make grammatical sense.

Of course Bonnie wouldn't be the only vampire in town. Damon should have suspected something, but he had stupidly relaxed his guard and assumed she would be the worst. He should have remembered: it's never just one. The bigger question was, why the hell did these bloodthirsty idiots care for some small town? No good could come from vampires, regardless of their intentions. In one day alone, Damon had suffered not only a vampire attack but the potential chaos of his kid brother's magic. At this point, he just wanted the other shoe to drop.

Funny how Mom and Dad left them in Mystic Falls for peace and quiet. (" _Stefanizo will have such a hard time adjusting,_ " Mama had told him during their last video call. " _It's a good thing he's home for his SATs._ ")

Forget Stefanizo. At this rate, Damon would have the adjustment problem! Damn his inability to ignore the supernatural in his backyard. Running faster, Damon surveyed the beaten path for any sign of Elena or Bonnie. He knew Elena too well: she wore her heart on her tattered sleeves, and she wouldn't rest until she consoled every weary soul in town. She must've figured that she could placate the new girl with a hug or Elena's special hibiscus passionfruit tea. Shame Bonnie wasn't interested in either one. Casually pulling out his miniature flashlight, Damon held it up high. Stefan had insisted on buying him one, "just in case." For once, his kid brother was properly paranoid.

Just as he turned the corner, Damon spotted a girl huddled up against a tree. She shivered, tugging on her ponytail to unravel it before her eyes met his. "Damon!"

He'd know that voice anywhere. "Elena!" Damon rushed to her side, holding out his hand and carefully inspecting her for cuts and scrapes. So far, he couldn't discern anything out of place. "What happened?"

"Th-the new girl? Bonnie? She got really scared when you and Jeremy brought Vicki back," she said softly, pulling back her hair so that Damon could see her neck. Thankfully, it was in perfect condition. "She kind of took off, so I had to follow her and make sure she was okay, you know?"

"I'm guessing you didn't catch up with her." He gently laid his palm on her forehead and murmured quietly, " _Guarigione_."

Elena's eyelids fluttered as she gazed up at his soothing touch. "Nope. When I got here, she kind of disappeared."

Figures. Damon almost sighed in frustration, but Elena wasn't to blame. Bonnie was simply much too fast, even for an athletic cheerleader. "Got it. I'll go look for her. You head home."

She glared fiercely at him. "Like hell I'm heading home! If Bonnie's out there, I'm going with you. You don't even know what she looks like!"

"She's black, isn't she? Not too many of those around here!"

Elena gasped. "Damon, that's not right!"

"What, being politically _in_ correct?" He started walking east - it was the only real path Bonnie could've taken - without bothering to wait for Elena. "Go home, Elena." _You'll only get hurt if you stick around here_ , he added to himself.

He could hear the soft crunch of Elena's sneakers behind him. At first, he ignored her. She had had a cheer competition earlier. If she wasn't worn out within the first ten minutes, exhaustion would soon overtake her. She didn't know her limits - and frankly, Damon wasn't interested in babysitting another unruly teenager. One was more than enough.

She sniffled, in that wounded gazelle kind of way. Damon sighed loudly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and hastening his pace ever-so-slightly. "Why do you insist on wearing yourself out?"

"Because you're wearing yourself out too," Elena insisted, almost running to keep up with him. "I know you had to make sure Stefan was okay, even if he was with Tyler, and I know you've been breaking under stress from school lately. Okay? I'm not stupid."

What stress? Compared to the Bonnie threat, his looming thesis was practically a Hawaiian vacation. He could handle words and distrusting professors. Vampires, on the other hand, were sneaky little bitches that needed to learn to take consequences for their actions.

"Of course you're not." He finally allowed himself to slow down, partially to look at her better. "Jeremy's going to need some support. Vicki was hurt pretty badly tonight."

"He's got Jenna." Elena bit her lower lip, her gaze immediately dropping towards the dirt beneath her. "I mean, I know. I just... I keep thinking about how it happened. Matt said it was an animal attack, but we don't get those much outside the woods. Vicki likes weird piercings, but even she wouldn't get one on the neck."

The one time he wanted Elena to accept things at face-value, she decided to pursue some deeper meaning. Damon pressed his lips together to prevent himself from groaning. "It was a freaking _raccoon_ attack, Elena. Do you think they care where they bite people?"

Elena stared blankly at him, almost forgetting to walk. "On the neck? Come on, the little guy had to leap into the air and-" Damon waited for half a second before Elena just buried her face in her hands. "Wait, you were actually there, weren't you?"

"Uh-huh."

"So how'd you beat the raccoon off?"

"I hit it with the trash can lid." Damon didn't even miss a beat. "If you don't believe me, maybe Vicki's experiencing some serious stress and thought-"

"She's not into self-harm, Damon." Elena narrowed her eyes, holding her chin high as she walked beside him. "But you know what? Instead of focusing on how the hell Vicki was attacked, we should be looking for Bonnie. Mrs. Bennett would so freak if she knew!"

So no one told Ms. Bennett about her 'granddaughter' running off into the woods. How convenient. "We find her, you bring her back to her grandmother's, we call it even." Sometimes, arguing with Elena was like talking to a brick wall. Damon was almost certain of it. "Okay? I don't tell Jenna about the thing I caught you and Stefan with..."

"You wouldn't," She huffed, folding her arms and avoiding his gaze. "Who am I kidding, of course you would."

His smirk grew just a smidge wider. "Why, Ms. Gilbert, do you distrust me that much?"

She shoved up against him as hard as she could, almost knocking him into the nearest tree. Vindictively placing her arms on her hips, she continued to walk forward. "I don't even want to know what goes on in your brain half the time. I swear to God, Damon..."

"You swear what?" Now he was kind of curious. Walking faster to keep pace with her, he tilted his head slightly. "That I'm kind of a douche?" Because Stefan would always say so. Not directly, because Stefan never outright wanted to insult Damon, but he would roll his eyes and press his lips together in that exasperated manner that almost - almost! - reminded Damon of Dad.

Elena, on the other hand, furrowed her brow. "I wouldn't say that." Fishing out her own miniature flashlight from her keys, she turned it on and held it steadily. "You're pretty abrasive, but a douchebag? You care too much about people to really be one."

Him? Caring? Damon had never asked to babysit Stefan and his motley crew. He'd never wanted to stay in grad school and finish up a degree in neuropsych. He'd never wanted this lifestyle. His family and friends were shackles around his wrists and ankles, tying him down to a small town he had desperately wanted to escape.

If he really wanted to escape, the better question was, why hadn't he? He could've followed Mason down to Florida years ago, or accompanied Sheena on her trek to India to rediscover her biological heritage. Heck, even Scumfell had left for college. He could have remained up north, where he finished his undergraduate degree, but he'd grown so homesick that he had purposefully chosen Whitmore for postgraduate education. Absence just had to make his stupid heart grow fonder of this place.

"You keep saying that like you expect it to be true someday," Damon responded slowly, holding the flashlight up high as they walked.

"Isn't it?" Elena looked at him thoughtfully. "You make sure we're all okay. I saw the way you behaved with Vicki tonight."

Yeah, because Vicki didn't know when to take a hint! Truthfully, he didn't want to outright agree with Elena. He wasn't their guardian angel. He hadn't earned the right, when these kids had more diligent and upstanding adults to guide them. "Keep dreaming, Gilbert."

"Hey!" She wrinkled her nose at him. "I'm not a guy. Don't put me on that weird last-name basis thing you have going on with the others."

He snorted softly. If he remembered correctly, Wickery Bridge wasn't too far from here. Elena's parents had driven off into the water about four months ago - and if he dared to walk across with her now, he wasn't the kind of person that everyone else wanted him to be.

So he hesitated, just before they reached the fork in the road that led to the bridge. "Elena?"

"Hm?"

"Go back to Jeremy. I... I caught him with some Ambien at the Grille earlier."

Elena's eyes widened. "You don't think-"

"Of course I do! His ex-girlfriend or whatever just got viciously attacked, and considering how everyone in his life's dropping like flies? Hell, _I'd_ take some too." He wrung his hands into the air for extra effect, nearly knocking over some poor tree branch.

Without another word, Elena consulted her phone and turned on its GPS system. While they both knew the woods fairly well, the phone was an extra security measure to ensure her safety on the way back. "But what about Bonnie?"

"I'll keep looking for her." Damon stared straight ahead at the bridge, focusing on the lamplights nearby rather than her horrified face. "Just make sure he gets through the night okay." Under his breath, he murmured a protection ward - nothing big, but it would keep her major arteries safe until she was safely inside her own house.

"Sure. Text me when you find Bonnie!"

"Only if you'll let me know when you get home."

"Of course!" Elena turned on her heels and ran back in the same manner as they'd arrived. The second she disappeared from his sight, Damon allowed himself to breathe. It wasn't exactly the chivalrous way to get her home, but considering that two little vampires were roaming the woods, he didn't want her by his side. She would be extra baggage, and he couldn't lug dead weight around a battlefield.

He'd learned that lesson the hard way when Mason had decided to interfere in a battle or two - and man, his best friend had never learned to take a hint either. Maybe it was just a Founding Families thing. He continued forward, listening for anything out of the ordinary. For the first minute and a half, the woods were silent, with only the sounds of his footsteps in the immediate vicinity.

Then, just as he had given up all hope, he heard yelling from the side of the road.

"The comet's not going to come around for what, another 150 years?" It was the vampire from earlier, and judging from her inhuman shrills, she was _pissed_. "I've gotta take my chances, Bonnie!"

There wasn't another Bonnie in town, so of course the other one was-

"Doesn't mean Katherine has to get out either!" Bonnie's voice called, loud and clear. "You were sloppy, Anna. If you keep this up, they're going to suspect something."

"What, your new Van Helsing? He's not stupid enough to corner us."

Except he kind of was. Not only had he dismissed Elena, but he had also ensured that he was fighting them two to one - and for all he knew, they had faced wizards before. He wouldn't be the first, and he was certain that he wouldn't be the last.

Damon inhaled sharply before he followed the sounds of their voices. As he approached, one girl fell into the tree next to him. The tree crashed straight into the clearing, but the girl? She bounced back on her feet, lunged forward, and seized her attacker by the neck. They wrestled on the ground for a few seconds, alternating between punches and dodges, before the one of them noticed Damon's looming shadow. Instantly, they pulled themselves apart.

"Aw. Did the fun police come to break us up?" The girl from earlier - the one with wavy, black hair and that wicked smile - turned to face him. She was also high-school age, but with absolutely none of the innocence he expected from a girl of her stature. Coyly brushing back her hair, she quietly stepped towards him.

Her sparring partner could only stare at him in horror. "Damon?"

"Hey, Bonnie." Damon shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. "Didn't expect to see you here." As long as she never found out that she was the main reason he was here, he wasn't technically lying.

"Oh?" The newcomer said, her lips widening as she licked them with the tip of her tongue. "You know this guy, Bon?"

"Not really." Bonnie nervously rubbed her elbow, refusing to make eye contact with either of them. Damon could see the pulsing veins under her eyes, the heightened tension in her muscles... they were going at it full-strength. "Give it a rest, Anna. He's not your next meal."

Damon instinctively stepped back. If he had really just interrupted a vampire catfight, he might as well be someone's next energy bar. "Ladies, let's not get too hasty."

Anna's entire face lit up. "Hasty? What do you mean? I mean, you already know who we are, so why can't we speed things up a little?"

"Beeecause I'm pretty sure us rednecks aren't fine dining. We kinda like our squirrels too much 'round these parts."

That elicited a laugh from Bonnie's lips. "You're not a redneck."

"No?" Damon turned to face her. "Ain't that a damn shame."

Anna tapped her foot impatiently. "I don't have time for this. Do me a favor, Bonnie, and stay out of my way, okay? I'm not exactly _trying_ to leave a trail of blood as I go."

Without another word, she brushed past Damon as hard as she could. The second her arm contacted his skin, it started to sizzle. Anna yowled, side-stepping him and crashing into the wall again. "Ow!" Staring at her bruised and burnt skin, she narrowed her eyes at him. "You should've told me he was a warlock."

"I think you mean wizard." He stepped back, narrowing his eyes as he concentrated on her brain. Watching her sink to the floor, Damon kept stepping further and further away from them. "BonBon, I don't know who your friend is, but you'd better keep her in line."

"W-wouldn't be so hard if you didn't inter...fere..."

Bonnie sighed, running down to her friend. "Salvatore."

"Nope." Not until he was certain they'd leave the town alone. Damon waited until he was near some wild vervain before he allowed the magic in Anna's brain to subside. The second he let go, Anna staggered back before running south.

He squinted at her retreating figure. "Who is she, anyways?"

Bonnie laughed hollowly. "The reason I'm in town in the first place."

"The reason you're in town in the first place? Her?" Damon gestured wildly to the spot where Anna had once been. He felt kind of like a parrot, but dammit, some friendships were toxic! If Bonnie really was this "good" vampire she claimed to be, she would have ditched Anna years ago. She must have seen something that Damon didn't, and it inwardly tortured him. If some vampires were good, how could he determine which ones he could kill on the spot?

"Yes. Her." Bonnie inhaled sharply. "Anna has some unfinished business, and I'm here to make sure she doesn't kill everyone in the process."

"Vampires can have consciences?"

She defiantly raised her chin at him. "Not all of us are coldhearted, Salvatore."

Damon pressed his lips together, tensing his shoulders tighter as he turned his back on Bonnie. "Could've fooled me."

"And which one of us attacked unprovoked, hm?"

In his defense, the last time a vampire coven rolled into town, they had attacked first. Damon was just preemptively calling the shots. He gritted his teeth, actively ignoring his spiking heart rate. Bonnie was trying to provoke him, and goddammit, it was working. "Your kind hasn't been welcome here for a long time."

"Oh, and warlocks – sorry, _wizards_ are?"

She had to catch him on a technicality. "At least they don't feed off humans. Don't you view this place as a grand buffet with free refills?"

"Boy, someone's the life of the party."

"You should see me after a couple of bottles of bourbon." He paused, staring again at the decimated trees. While he wasn't theoretically supposed to mess with nature, he still hated how one vampire could easily cut a tree down with brute force. "How come I've never heard of Anna? She wasn't mentioned in the town records."

"The town records don't have her listed as a vampire." Bonnie stepped closer to him, warily watching his fingers curl up into a ball. "Plus, you know, there wasn't exactly strong sentiment for settlers from the Orient in those days."

When she said it so casually, as if it were a fact of life, Damon couldn't help gawking at her. Bonnie may be eternally sixteen or seventeen – he couldn't exactly tell – but her defiant stance, with her hands balled up into fists, told him otherwise. This was a girl who had endured more hardship than he could have ever cared to imagine, and he loathed himself for even feeling an iota of sympathy for her. In the end, Bonnie was still a thirsty bloodsucker, even if she claimed otherwise. She could always turn on him in his sleep, when he wouldn't even have the chance to fight.

"Guess not." He bit down on his lower lip and turned back towards town. "Look, I've gotta get you home. I promised Elena I'd bring you back in one piece."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow. "Elena?"

"The girl you were scarily interested in at school? To the point where her _boyfriend_ thought you were a lesbian?"

Bonnie giggled, desperately trying to hide her mirth behind her hands. The effort was in vain, because she had to clutch her stomach to keep from laughing. "Did he really?"

"Enough to complain to me about it." Damon rolled his eyes. While he could understand jealousy, he was also pretty sure that Stefan wasn't going to lose Elena to a freaking vampire. Speaking of Elena… he'd promised to text Elena the second he found Bonnie. Pulling out his phone, Damon blinked at the stream of texts Elena had sent him, along with five missed calls and two voicemails.

 **10:05 PM** \- got home safe! thanks for telling me about jerbear :)

 **10:25 PM** \- wait  
jerbear said he doesn't have ambien on him  
are you sure you saw him with it?

 **10:26 PM** – aunt jenna said she locked all of jer's drugs in the basement… idk where he could've bought more in the span of 2 hours

 **10:28 PM** \- Damon Salvatore, you probably saw him with drugs, but i s2g if you told me that lie to get me home, you are in a world of hurt

 **10:29 PM** \- okay maybe not a WORLD of hurt but seriously lmk if bonnie's ok! i'm really worried about her :(

 **10:30 PM** \- ANSWER YOUR PHONE, DAY. ANSWER IT ASAP.

 **10:31 PM** \- please?

Damon chuckled softly, before he hurriedly typed a reply back to her:

sorry, phone was on silent. glad jeremy's okay! taking bonnie home right now. see you tomorrow?

Bonnie peered over his shoulder. "You told her that Jeremy had drugs on him? But you would've caught them on him if---"

"I lied to her, Bennett." Damon sighed. "Not that you'd know anything about keeping family safe."

Her expression softened considerably. "Maybe. Maybe not. You're probably just glad nothing happened to them."

Was he that much of an open book? Damon tensed, walking just a bit more stiffly than before. Bonnie's concern was unsettling, considering how her friend didn't seem to give a damn about other people. "Does your friend normally do that?" He asked, gesturing to his neck. "I'm thinking about grabbing the stakes..."

Bonnie shook her head. "Not usually. Anna likes getting her blood from the blood bank, and well... she's never been this bad. I'm thinking your friend said something to get her all riled up."

"Like what? Sorry I'm human?"

She glared at him with such intensity that Damon almost tripped on his own two feet. Almost, because he hastened his pace. "No, like... like something about the town's history. I don't know, you'd have to ask her." He must've hit a nerve, because she was walking so fast that Damon had to run by her side.

Bonnie continued, "I'll give you Grams' address once we're at the Grille. You drove there, right?"

Damon nodded, half-wondering how she'd even remembered that.

"Good."

Damon snorted. "Don't think I'm doing this for you because I want to. It's only for Elena's sake."

"I figured. Now, are you going to move this slowly, or should I just wait for you?"

He wrinkled his nose at her. "Aw, come on. I can keep up just fine."

She smirked, turning on her heels and picking up the pace just a bit faster. "If you say so."

 

 

 

 

 

t must've been at least 1 AM by the time he stepped through the back door of the Salvatore Manor. If he had been drinking with Jenna, he wouldn't have batted an eye at the hour. Considering that he had almost fought two vampires, and Bonnie had given him the workout of his life, Damon just wanted to go to bed. God, he was going to feel every single muscle in the morning.

The second he closed the back door, he could hear the faint background noise of television and the occasional laughter from the boys. Good. They hadn't noticed a thing. Taking his shoes off, Damon headed for the family den and plopped down on the armchair across from them. Stefan reached for the remote and paused the film immediately.

"You look dead," Stefan commented wryly, idly running his fingers over an amber gem. Damon vaguely recognized it as one of Aunt Liz's necklaces; did Caroline lend it to them for Halloween? "And here I thought I had a bad day."

"What happened?" Tyler asked, glancing up at them and reaching for the bowl of popcorn in front of them. "Elena said something happened to Vicki, but she was kinda vague about it."

He couldn't tell them the bad news. Someone closer to the situation – like Jeremy or Matt – should have been the one to tell them upfront. Last Damon heard, Tyler had briefly dated Vicki (or maybe they were friends with benefits). As much as he distrusted Dickwood Jr., the kid didn't deserve to find out the truth like this.

"There was an animal attack," Damon said slowly, gauging the boys' faces for their reactions. "Vicki got hurt near the Grille when she was on break."

"By the Grille?" Stefan stared at him skeptically. "I thought the police fixed the raccoon problem. Unless they came back? Did she come between them and their food or something?"

"I... guess so?" Damon shrugged. Sometimes, he forgot how easily Stefan resorted to logic and reason to explain the supernatural. Most people - Stefan included - wouldn't believe that a raccoon bit Vicki. (She didn't exactly _smell_ like garbage.) Yet without any other evidence, raccoon bites were the most likely explanation. Stefan may not believe in violent raccoons (or raccoon infestations), but he couldn't exactly call Damon's bluff either. Some nights, Damon wished he could share this magical, crazy world with Stefan - but tonight, he was just glad that Stefan cared more about logic than fantasy.

Tyler buried his face in his hands. "God, Matt tried to call me and I just ignored him..." Stefan reached over and patted his best friend's shoulder.

At least their friends had tried to keep them in the loop. Stefan added, "Elena and Caroline texted me, but it was kinda hard to decipher." Of course Caroline's texts were. Did that cheerleader even know proper punctuation?

Damon pressed his lips together. "Vicki seemed like she'd be okay. I think Matt's still at the hospital with her, if you want to call - or I can take you tomorrow after breakfast."

He didn't want to drive there so early, considering he had just spent half the night with Elena, Bonnie, and Bonnie's homicidal little friend, but if it made Stefan happy... Damon would have held the Earth on his shoulders for that kid. Stefan was his entire world, as much as he hated outwardly admitting it. Without another word, Damon moved onto the couch beside Stefan, allowing his little brother to rest on his shoulders. Stefan shot Damon a grateful smile, reaching for his brother's hands and holding them tightly.

"Really?" Tyler couldn't hide the relief in his voice as he sank deeper into the couch. As he wrapped a blanket around himself, he quietly added, "Thank you."

 

 

 

 

 

After a light breakfast, the boys drove out to the hospital. Matt greeted them somberly right outside the door, half-heartedly smiling as he led them to Vicki's room. The second they reached the hall, Stefan pulled him in for a hug.

"How's she holding up?" Stefan asked softly, pulling away from his friend so that Tyler could go in for a one-armed hug.

Matt glanced involuntarily at the door. "The doc says she'll be fine. She lost a lot of blood last night and had to have an emergency blood transfusion, but..." He heaved a sigh. "She'll be alright."

"Your mom checked in yet?" Damon was only asking as a courtesy. From what he understood, Kelly Donovan had skipped town (again) with her newest boyfriend. If Matt had tried to call her, the chances of her picking up were slim.

"Nope." Bitterness colored Matt's voice as he slumped down into the nearest chair. "I tried the last two numbers she gave me, but she's too busy gallivanting off with Mystery Douchebag."

Stefan and Tyler exchanged uneasy glances.

"You might want to check on Jeremy, Damon," Matt added, gesturing towards the door. "Jenna probably doesn't know he's here."

"Probably not." Damon pressed his lips together once he noticed Jeremy's silhouette through the hospital window. Sometimes, that kid had enough willpower for an entire universe. He wasn't exactly keen on kicking the kid out, but considering what had happened last night... "You okay with him staying here?"

Matt shrugged. "He's decent enough company. He cares a lot about Vicki, you know? She needed someone like that in her life."

Tyler froze. "Yeah," he said quickly, reaching for the doorknob and opening the door. "She really does."

That someone, Damon recognized, had never been Tyler Lockwood. Not in the sense that Jeremy had been - which just made last summer's events all the more confusing. What had happened between the three of them? Did Damon even want to know? As Damon's gaze fell on the sleeping Vicki, he reckoned that he didn't want the truth. They'd work it out like adults... eventually.

Standing by the window, Jeremy greeted them with a curt nod. His hair was disheveled, his eyes had dark circles, and he was holding a coffee thermos in his left hand. Taking another sip, he then peered over at Stefan. "I see you're feeling better."

Stefan folded his arms. "Yeah, I think I just needed sleep... which you might need too, from the looks of it."

"Sorry we couldn't help last night," Tyler said glumly, flopping down onto the nearest chair. "I just figured, your calls were more about Trivia Night than... this."

"S'cool. I just thought you were being an ass." Jeremy laughed hollowly in-between sips of coffee.

Damon watched them warily. If he weren't careful, another brawl might break in the middle of this room, and the last thing Vicki needed for her recovery was these two idiots fighting over her bed. "Hey, Jer. Ready to grab some lunch?"

Jeremy shot Damon a confused face. "But the Grille won't open for another hour."

"I didn't say we'd be sticking around here," Damon pointed out. "I've got some work at Whitmore I need to finish, and I figure, if I'm babysitting, I might as well make it worth my while." The boys would be a fantastic excuse to eat out, and Damon had been eying the new Asian place for at least a couple of weeks. Misao had raved about it, and if an actual Asian liked it, it had to be somewhat decent.

Stefan's face blanched. "I'm not a kid, Damon."

"You're kind of eleven in my mind forever. Sorry, kiddo." Damon laughed softly, opening the door again. "Jer, I understand if you want to stay, but Jenna's gonna be pissed..."

Jeremy sighed out of defeat. "Fine. Don't you dare tell her-"

"Tell her what?" Stefan said, jumping in-between them. "That we kidnapped you for a Guy's Day Out? After what happened last night, we thought that you needed some cheering up?" Pointedly, he looked at Tyler, "And a certain someone can't join us because he has plans?"

Tyler snorted. "You can't baby him forever."

"Said the guy that willingly sat through a whole season of Ben 10." Stefan lightly rested his fist on Tyler's shoulder. "I'll make it up to you later."

"In bed?" Damon wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, only for Jeremy to burst into laughter.

Tyler scowled. "Weren't you and my uncle a thing?"

"Only in his dreams," Damon crowed, unable to hide his amusement as he slung an arm around Jeremy's shoulders.

"Must've been pretty hot dreams," Vicki's voice called softly. She opened her eyes, though she didn't make any attempt to move.

Immediately, Jeremy rushed to her side. "Hey. You okay?"

She nodded weakly. "Yeah. I... I think..." She yawned. "I think I'm fine. Just sleepy."

"Oookay, I think Sleeping Beauty wants us to go." Damon motioned back towards the door. "We'll let Matt know you're up. Jer, Stef, come on?"

The boys followed him out reluctantly. As they closed the door behind them, Damon could see Tyler kneeling by her bedside as Matt rushed in.

"You think she'll really be okay?" Jeremy asked, peering through the glass window.

Stefan answered, "I think so, yeah. You will be too, once we get some food in you."

Jeremy weakly held up his coffee mug in protest, to which Damon dunked it in the nearest trash bin.

"Coffee never counts. I don't care what Jenna says, kid. It's not a major food group." Damon rolled his eyes, pushing him out the door without much of a struggle.

Stefan struggled to keep his face even. "So sayeth the hypocrite."

"The _hypocrite_ prefers black tea, thank you very much," Damon called.

So maybe his calves were as sore as hell and his boys were exhausted from the horrors of last night, but as far as he was concerned, this morning had been a victory. He hadn't fallen asleep in anyone's arms, and Vicki hadn't blabbed about the true nature of her attacks. Damon triumphantly turned his head back towards the hospital room.

Through the window, he could see Matt and Tyler's faces turn grief-stricken, and Damon could just barely make the shape of their lips as they mouthed, "Vampire?"

Shit. Maybe he should just cut his losses while he was ahead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies! I was doing the math for everyone's ages and only belatedly realized that Damon should theoretically be 3 years younger than Jenna and Mason, so in this AU (for the sake of sanity), Jenna and Mason have been aged down to 25-26. Your support on this fic has been fantastic, so I can't thank you enough for everything.

They hadn't even made it out of city limits before Jeremy announced, "Matt said Vicki's meds weren't working properly this morning."

Damon cursed under his breath. Of course Matt would tell Jeremy about Vicki's vampire story, but Damon had hoped for at least fifteen minutes before the story broke. If the boys planned on commandeering the wheel, he was going to be pissed. Vicki was safe and sound; Bonnie had made it back to Aunt Sheila's place; and Bonnie's friend had been successfully deterred for the time being. He had no reason to stick around and play caretaker to some high-school drunkard.

"She didn't seem loopy when we talked to her." Stefan's voice is calculating, almost measured as he glanced over his shoulder. "Did something happen?"

"Vicki thought she was attacked by a vampire. That can't be right." Jeremy rolled his eyes, his gaze dropping down to his phone as his thumbs ran over his phone's keyboard. "I don't know what bit her, but vampires can't just fly out of some kid's mythology book. I'd take them over the raccoon infestation we had last year."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one currently fighting evil by moonlight. Let the kid have his delusions: Damon preferred it to the kid wandering the streets with a crossbow. Though Damon had to wonder, just how bad had the raccoons gotten lately? He didn't remember them ever being this bad in high school.

"I don't know. Vampires might explain my weird dreams, and I swear – I've been sober this whole time." Stefan pulled out an amber necklace from his pocket and slowly ran his fingers over it.

That necklace must've soothed Stefan's weary nerves, because Damon hadn't seen Stefan this attached to an inanimate object in years. It was almost as if the gem called out to him, but that couldn't be right. Damon would've felt the mystical power radiating from it.

"Maybe you're the Raccoon Prophet," Damon suggested. "Destined to foretell all possible future raccoon sightings, because hey, you kinda foretold me finding Vick by that dumpster."

"I did?" Stefan's brows furrowed.

Whoops.

Before Damon could repair the damage with a well-timed insult, Jeremy had to remark, "I'm kinda glad, actually. Without your crazy psychic abilities, Damon wouldn't have found her as quickly."

Stefan snorted. "Should I start charging?"

Anna should only be so lucky that this entire town had legitimate problems with animal control. Damon half-wondered if the city council even acknowledged the recent infestation, considering the populace was far too preoccupied with reliving the 19th century. By all means, keep them distracted with stupid events designed to erase the grim history of the Civil War. Damon sure didn't want them drudging up stories of vampires or Salem witches or the real Van Helsings that wandered these paths.

"Damon?" Stefan cautiously peered at his brother. "You okay?"

"Huh?" Damon stared down at his red hands and how tightly they were gripping the steering wheel. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just distracted by my thesis."

Jeremy sighed sympathetically. "You and Aunt Jenna both, man. I'm so glad I don't even have to think about grad school right now."

Saved by his looming thesis. As much as he hated working on it, Damon used it far too often as an alibi. No one questioned the hours he spent in the library, because any kind of research would benefit his work – even if it was more the supernatural kind than the biological. Considering his choice of company, it would be a small miracle if he made any sort of dent in his readings.

"You think you could make time to watch the comet tomorrow night?" Stefan said, tucking the gem back in his pocket. "Elena and Caroline roped me into helping out, and hey, it could be fun."

"It only comes back every 145 years, Day. You did say you needed an actual study break…" Jeremy added helpfully.

Yeah, before Bonnie waltzed into town! Right now, Damon didn't think he could pull himself together long enough for some town shindig. He'd noticed the gossip about him spreading like wildfire. He may not care much about his reputation, but why add fuel to a roaring fire he couldn't control?

Except, wait… did Jeremy just say… "Every 145 years?" Damon repeated, looking back at Jeremy through the rearview mirror.

It had to be the same comet Bonnie's little friend obsessed over. The timing was a bit off – Jeremy's 145 to Anna's 150 – but it sounded like the one she so desperately needed. Dad had once talked about it, when he taught Damon the local folklore back in college.

Around the time the town was founded, this comet soared through the sky, transforming Mystic Falls into a hotbed for paranormal activity. A 'Hellmouth' of sorts, if you will. Dad hadn't appreciated the reference at the time, but that was how Damon best understood the comet's power. Nothing good could come from that mystical ball of snow and ice – and if Stefan and Jeremy were planning on watching it, Damon had to protect them somehow.

"Uh-huh." Jeremy raised an eyebrow. "Come on, you've got to have heard _something_. Even Logan Fell covered it on the news."

"Don't remind me." Damon grimaced. "That narcissist doesn't need any more attention."

Jeremy's only response was a slight tilt of his head. Stefan quickly leapt in to explain, "Damon and Logan kinda hate each other. Mostly because Logan bullied him in high school."

"Someone was stupid enough to hate Damon?" Jeremy whistled softly. "I'm sorry, man. I had no idea."

"Not like I publicly broadcast it." Damon had almost forgotten entirely. He didn't want to reminisce about ancient 'glory days' when the present was right in front of him.

"Speaking of things you publicly broadcast… I don't know what you told Elena last night." Jeremy folded his arms. "She was all convinced I had this huge stash of Ambien, but I swear, I didn't have anything on me." His expression would have been downright hilarious, if he weren't so furious that Damon could feel the rage radiating from the kid's bones.

Thank god. One less thing to worry about, especially when the entire world was imploding in his face. Figures that the one time he claimed Jeremy had drugs, the kid hadn't been able to access his stash. Damon sighed of relief. "Sorry. I saw something and I guess I got the wrong impression."

Jeremy exhaled, releasing the tension in his shoulders. "I thought you guys hated it when I played video games all day."

"Better than when you're stoned. At least we can pry you away from Sora, Donald, and Goofy," Stefan remarked casually. "So, uh, comet? Tomorrow at 7 in front of the Grille?"

"Yeah, why not?" Damon couldn't find any other excuse to mercilessly ditch them. "It's not every day it passes over town."

 

 

 

 

he rest of their day had gone relatively peacefully. Thank god, because Damon didn't think he could handle any additional stress. Stefan loved the pho from the Vietnamese restaurant; Jeremy observed a couple of figure drawing classes; and even Damon got to finish some research for his thesis before the night ended. It was exactly what they needed, complete with a calm and uneventful ride back.

The following morning, Damon woke up earlier than usual and poured his energy into researching the comet. The mystical, magical comet that his ancestors' grimoires feared, for it revitalized the mystical energy in town. Before Damon realized it, he'd spent hours sifting through his files, reading everything he possibly could, as Stefan dragged him out the door for mass.

While Damon didn't consider himself religious, he craved the routine. The rigidity of the mass – the constancy of the hymns, of the liturgy, of worshipping God – reined in his darker impulses. Stefan had always better appreciated religion for what it was. Hell, he and Elena spent hours debating about the deeper meaning of life, especially after Grayson and Miranda's passing. In retrospect, Damon suspected he needed to find another service, because he was getting rather tired of the grim association between witchcraft and hell.

The minute they walked back through the door, Mom had called on his tablet. Still dressed neatly in a button-up shirt and tie, unlike his typical habit of leather jackets and jeans, Damon ducked his head to avoid his mom's gaze. " _Hey_."

"Don't you look nice!" Mom smiled so warmly that Damon had almost forgotten the whole gravity of the situation. "Sorry I couldn't call back earlier. Your father and I had a huge presentation! You said Stefanizo was developing… ah… you know?"

Damon had nodded fervently. "Yeah, I was with Misao, so I couldn't elaborate." He paused, listening cautiously to the sound of running water above him. Good, Stefan was in the shower. Hopefully the kid would take a long one this time. "Basically, Stefan's got these scarily accurate premonitions. Every time he touches someone supernatural, he gets these… numbers or images and they always fit together somehow. Poor kid thinks he's going crazy."

"You haven't told him the truth?"

"Not sure it's my place to tell him. I might have to – another vampire rolled into town."

Later, he wouldn't remember the exact details, but he would recall all too easily how his mother had sat up straighter, how her messy brown curls fell in front of her eyes, and how her natural Italian accent had slurred out of her. The last time he saw Mom like this was in high school – and right now, he wished he hadn't said anything.

"You haven't staked him?"

"Haven't staked _her_ ," Damon patiently corrected, mirroring her posture. "She's one of those hippie vegetarian types."

Mom sighed softly, pressing a hand to her cheek. "Do you really believe that?"

"Not really, no." Damon sighed. "But from what little I know of Bonnie Bennett-"

Mom's shoulders sagged, even though her expression didn't change much. "Oh. She's not as bad as the others, especially if she came alone."

Problem was, Bonnie wasn't alone. Damon couldn't exactly tell his parents about Anna! Not without them fretting and calling up the cavalry – and right now, Damon was certain that he could fend off these two without much trouble. So he paused, trying to gather his thoughts. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

"So what should I tell Stefan in the meantime?"

Mom paused for a moment, looking over her shoulder at the other end of their office. Damon never understood why merely mentioning Stefan and magic in the same sentence created familial turmoil. At every family reunion (birthdays, graduations, weddings), Stefanizo had to be kept in the dark – though the bigger question was why. As far as Damon could tell, his kid brother had developed an uncanny ability to foresee the future. Stefan would undoubtedly welcome the sanity check, even if he didn't believe it at first.

"I… you know what? I'll ask your father to check up on him."

She'd actually do that for him? Damon allowed himself a sigh of relief. "Thank god. I don't think he'd believe me."

Mom's eyes twinkled, as she reached over and straightened her webcam. "You'd be surprised about that."

"Huh?" Damon squinted at the screen. Was Mom making one of those old people jokes? Because he sure didn't understand the punchline.

Mom laughed warmly, making Damon wish that he could just reach over the screen and hug her. He must've missed her more than he realized, because he sure didn't fork over affection that easily. " _Gattino_ , everything else going well?"

Damon shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess." No sense in worrying her this late in the game. His thesis would happen when it happened, vampires and magic be damned.

"Hmm. That's good."

"Is Dad here?" Damon asked quietly, certain his shaking shoulders were betraying him. "I guess I should say hi too."

Mom nodded, reaching to the left of the screen and pulling his father down beside her. The instant he saw Dad's face, Damon could feel the tension dissipating. While he never quite got along with Dad, they never quite hated each other either.

" _Gattino,_ it's so good to see you."

Damon smiled, ducking to avoid his father's gaze. "It's good to see you too." He would have asked about Tuscany or about their big presentation, but before he could get another sentence in, he heard the heavy footsteps of his younger brother bounding down the staircase.

"Dad?"

Mom and Dad waved wildly, forcing Damon to duck so that they could see their other son better. "Stefanizo!"

Stefan grinned so widely that for a split second, Damon saw an eleven year old boy at the doorway instead of his grown-up, somewhat aloof seventeen year old brother.

"Are you…?" Stefan gestured towards the screen. "Can I talk one on one or…?"

"I'm just about done." Damon grinned, pulling Stefan in closer. "I'm gonna make tea, but tell him exactly what you told me."

Dad and Mom exchanged nervous glances. "I think we'll hold off on that conversation," Mom said softly, reaching over for Dad's hands and squeezing them tightly.

Stefan blushed profusely, almost burying his head in his hands. "Mama, please! I already know how babies are made."

Damon snickered. "He sure does. No, genius, we were thinking about something else." Without another word, he lightly flicked Stefan's nose before heading to the stove.

"Oh." Stefan's face still retained his red tint as he peered closer at his parents. "You sure you want to hold off?"

"Yeah. We can tell you at Christmas," Mom said.

Stefan squinted. "You're not pregnant, are you? Because I don't think Damon can raise another kid."

Damon wanted to laugh so badly. Like Mom would be pregnant again! As Damon brewed some chai, he could only hear hushed whispers before the 'thud' of Stefan's barstool hitting the floor.

"What do you mean, you're coming home early?"

Oh.

They weren't having the conversation that Damon honestly wished they were. He wanted them to showcase their magic, to illuminate their office with a flick of their wrist or summon a floating teapot to pour themselves some herbal tea. He wanted them to reassure Stefan, to tell the boy he wasn't crazy (because Damon alone couldn't turn the tide).

Mom said something softly, to which Stefan could only reply, "Yeah, yeah, that's fine."

To Damon, Stefan said, "Hey, do you think you could pick Mom up from the airport on the 10th of December instead of the 21st?" They were coming back that early? He didn't expect them to make that kind of breakthrough in their research.

"Easily." Damon mentally went through his calendar, before realizing that his parents trumped any sort of plans he would've made that day. Whitmore wouldn't miss him if he just skipped lab. Sure, Dr. Maxfield might throw another one of his little temper tantrums, but Damon had long since learned to ignore him. The guy – no matter how brilliant – was still a grade-A douchebag, and that was saying something coming from Damon.

Satisfied, Stefan pulled the barstool back up. "That takes care of that. So how'd your big presentation go?"

The conversation between Stefan and his parents lulled into an easy rhythm, allowing Damon to slip back into his research. The comet may not pass for another few hours, but Damon couldn't afford to get cocky. Not this early in the game.

 

 

 

 

 

 

About an hour later, Stefan headed out the door ("See you!"), leaving Damon to his own devices until 7. Normally, Damon would have relished the opportunity after a whole day of research. He could have indulged in some synthesis, practiced a new spell… or honestly, just clean house. Stefan didn't exactly appreciate Damon's ongoing effort to organize the Manor, claiming it was at the expense of the boarding house's "character."

There wasn't anything to organize – strangely enough – so Damon pulled out his leather notebook and scanned his to-do list. Only one thing stood out:

□ _Get Stefan his Grimoire_

Mom and Dad said they didn't want Stefan to learn magic. Damon had to respect their wishes. However, they had said absolutely nothing about Damon buying a new leather notebook and stuffing the inside with handwritten notes about his powers. So he leaned forward on the kitchen counter and started writing. Sure, he preferred it when Jeremy stayed in the dark, but Stefan? Stefan deserved to know, even if Damon was bound to his word.

Damon only stopped when his hands started to cramp. Recognizing the need for a break, he hid the new grimoire in the basement before heading downtown.

He heard the clamor of the townspeople long before he saw the stringed lights and banners. Catching snippets of conversation as he parked his car, Damon climbed out and headed into the town square alone. Jenna and Stefan should already be there, judging from the crowds.

The second he stepped onto the grass, a flyer nearly stabbed him in the eye. He winced, prying it off his face to see a blonde girl apologetically smile at him. She rushed towards him, her silver bracelets clanking fiercely against each other as she seized the flyer out of his face.

"Sorry Damon!" She straightened out the flyer, handing it back to him with a sheepish smile. "Though I'm glad you showed up early."

He winced, folding it and stuffing it in his pocket. "Watch it. You almost hit my eye there."

"Oh!" She laughed timidly, hiding her mouth behind her hands. "I really, really didn't mean it."

As often as he mocked Caroline Forbes, Damon knew she meant well. It was more than what Damon could say about the other blonde cheerleaders he'd encountered. She was a constant presence in Stefan's life - mainly because in the third grade, Stefan had been the only one to help her weave daisy chains. More recently, Caroline organized just about every school event for their grade, and Damon had become more acquainted with her than he had ever hoped or planned to.

"I figured," he said finally, trying to reassure her as he reached for a single candle from a nearby box. "Have you seen Stefan or Jenna yet?"

She pointed with two fingers towards the eastern corner of town square, where a small group had gathered near the picnic tables and tossed picnic blankets. Most of the town was somewhere in this vicinity, Damon realized as he inhaled in the smell of freshly-made cotton candy, popcorn, and even funnel cake. Mystic Falls cherished history (no matter how racist or stupid), whereas Damon never paid it much attention. He just didn't care enough about legacies or Founding Families to give it the time of day. As Dad used to say, tradition strangled everyone with an unnecessary leash.

Following Caroline's gesture, he headed there, stopping only when he realized someone was trying to light his candle. Halting his step, he held out his hand and watched its flame burn.

"Hey." Jenna's voice was warm as she looked up at him. "Glad you could make it."

Damon shrugged, holding his candle carefully so he wouldn't set his leather jacket on fire. "I didn't exactly have better plans."

"Awww," Caroline cooed from the back, "You two are so cute together!"

Jenna rolled her eyes, though her lips curled upwards in a smile that almost made Damon forget the troubles of his weekend. Almost. Sure, half the town wanted them to 'finally admit' their romantic feelings for each other. Damon knew that most people thought they were already dating, from how often people called Jenna his girlfriend.

Those same people must've not paid attention a few years ago, because Damon and Jenna tried dating their senior year of high school. It lasted for three weeks, spent blissfully in maintenance closets where they had tangled up in each other's limbs until the janitor (or worse, a teacher) discovered them. Damon remembered her warm embrace; her adorable laugh; and the slight tilt of her head… but he especially remembered how her warm kisses were also sloppy and how undressing her was the least sexy thing he'd attempted in his lifetime. Worst of all: he preferred _actually_ sleeping with her to… well, sleeping with her. Jenna broke it off first, after they had bickered mercilessly over blankets and pillows. Their friendship would last a lifetime, but their whirlwind romance had ended with a whimper.

"Thanks, Caroline," Damon called absentmindedly. "Don't you have some candles to hand out or something?"

Caroline pouted. "I can see when I'm wanted."

"You're always wanted," Stefan called out loud and clear as he and Elena wandered towards them with fully-lit candles. Elena's worried gaze swept between both Damon and Caroline, before she allowed her shoulders to slightly relax. Elena really needed a new hobby, Damon decided. Maybe knitting? Or watching those obscure Japanese cartoons Jeremy liked so much? Anything would be preferable to worrying so frantically about her loved ones.

"Yeah, except when she plays matchmaker." Damon coolly gestured towards Caroline.

Him and Jenna? Seriously? Even Mason made more sense, because Jenna wanted to settle down somewhere with her 2.5 kids and that white picket fence, but Damon wanted to travel over the world before he could even think of tying himself down. Raising a 17 year old boy was enough torture.

Stefan snorted, causing Caroline to nearly elbow him. Nearly, because at the last second, she remembered there was a candle in her hands. Nearby, Tyler and Matt sat across from each other on a picnic table. They mumbled softly to each other, gesturing with their free hands, as Bonnie quietly approached them. She coughed, forcing them both to feign smiles in her direction. Matt lit her flame, watching as it burned fiercely in her hand.

"Bonnie?" Her name escaped Damon's lips faster than he could take it back.

She turned to him, cradling the candle. "Hey Damon. Thanks for taking me home the other night." The last sentence, he knew, was for everyone else's benefit. Bonnie could defend herself almost as well as Damon – almost, because he could pop her brain at any given moment.

Elena smiled gratefully. "I'm glad you're okay."

Bonnie's face turned a faint red. She avoided Elena's gaze, turning her cheek towards the boys. Damon bit on his cheek to keep from laughing. The bloodsucker was actually embarrassed?

"That the girl you saved Friday night?" Jenna whispered in his ear, leaning forward so the other kids couldn't hear.

Damon nodded, watching out of the corner of his eye as Bonnie's brows furrowed tightly. "Yeah," he answered in equally hushed tones, moving towards another corner of the square. He and Jenna weren't in high school anymore – and while he loved his brother, Damon needed to give Stefan room to breathe.

"She seems nice."

Damon shrugged. Thankfully, Jenna's rapt attention was focused more on Jeremy, who had just walked out of the Grille with Vicki. "Nicer than Vicki Donovan?"

"That, I don't know." Damon wasn't technically lying. Without all the pieces, he had absolutely no idea about the weird love triangle that had arisen last summer. Quite frankly, he also didn't care. Did no one else in this town watch TV? Or run? Or had some kind of hobby that allowed them to focus on other things?

"Hm." Jenna's thoughts had long drifted elsewhere. "How do you manage it, Damon? This whole… whole raising a kid thing?" She stared up at the sky, blinking tears back furiously with each passing second.

Without hesitation, he pulled himself closer and reached to wipe the tears away. "I don't," he laughed bitterly. "Stefan does most of the hard work himself."

"No, seriously. You – you and Miranda made it look so effortless. Tanner and I talked after school on Thursday, about Jeremy—"

"Don't listen to a thing Tanner says. He's a douchebag."

The last time Damon had had a parent-teacher conference with Stefan's history teacher, Damon had sent strongly-worded emails to the council. Not only did this guy teach poorly but he also dared to call Damon's parenting style 'misguided?' Dammit, Damon was doing his best out here. It wasn't as if he could control his parents' careers or Stefan's misgivings about the world.

Now, if Tanner wanted to go yell at the Founding Families, he was more than welcome to – at the expense of his sorry job. (Damon typically hated his family's reputation, but in this case, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing.)

"Yeah, well, he had a point." Jenna sighed, holding up her now-extinguished flame. "I can't keep Jeremy in line. You heard about how I had to violate his privacy and lock up every single pill we own, right? I just… I don't know if I can do this parenting thing. I'm becoming my own worst nightmare and I hate every _single_ moment of it."

"That's the fear talking, Jen," Damon said gently, re-lighting her candle. "Jer needs someone to tell him no, even if he hates it. Trust me: I was fifteen once."

"I remember. You were terrible." Jenna giggled at the mental image.

"Which is exactly why I needed Mom to tell me I was being ridiculous every other hour." Damon rolled his eyes, even if he couldn't quite keep a smirk off his face. While Jenna wasn't exactly the most responsible person he knew, she related easily to her niece and nephew. As long as she believed in herself, she could lay down the law and keep their respect. That, Damon didn't doubt for a single second. "You're going to be fine. We'll knock some sense into Jeremy together – and hey, if that doesn't work? There's always rehab." (The mere threat was usually enough for Jeremy to reconsider his poor life choices.)

A few seconds of silence passed before Jenna leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. "Thank you."

For what? For being a decent human being? Just as he opened his mouth to rebuke her, a bright light flashed across the night sky. Amidst the twinkling stars and the open sky, it was actually kind of beautiful.

Jenna gasped, in the manner she only did when new episodes of her shows aired. Damon resisted the urge to laugh. Instead, he watched as it disappeared beyond the horizon, glancing every now and then back at his brother.

Stefan and Elena had fallen into the comfort of each other's arms; Matt and Caroline were scooting awkwardly away from each other; Vicki and Tyler were exchanging knowing smiles; and Jeremy and Bonnie's gazes remained fixed on the night sky. Damon could have sworn he saw a flash of black, wavy hair as he looked back at them, but when he blinked, no one was there.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Not all legends were true, Damon supposed. Almost a whole week had passed since the Night of the Comet without a single incident. Mystic Falls had successfully trapped and captured every last raccoon downtown, according to the morning news. ("I can confirm that every last raccoon is in the hands of the state department," Sheriff Forbes – his Aunt Liz – had proudly told Scumfell.) Without raccoons to blame, Anna might have gotten the hell out of Dodge. Bonnie had said that she was watching over her friend, but she hadn't exactly said she'd leave town when Anna would either.

Every time he tried to probe Stefan, his kid brother had remained suspiciously quiet. This Friday afternoon, they gathered in the kitchen over a freshly-baked batch of brownies and vervain-infused tea. Damon's adviser had given him the day off, partially because Damon had almost snapped into a frenzy at Misao's newest selection of Japanese music. He usually tolerated Misao, but bubblegum pop at 7 AM wasn't his idea of a perfect morning.

"Bonnie's still in town, right?" Damon had asked casually, sipping on some tea.

"Of course. She and Elena already made plans for tomorrow, since Tyler and I have to work on Model UN."

Right, Damon had almost forgotten about Stefan's club activities, in the midst of everything that had happened lately. "Yeah? You're… okay with it just being the two of them?"

Stefan stared at him skeptically. "Um, yeah? Elena said it herself: she needs more girl friends than just Caroline and Amy. I don't mind her hanging out with Bonnie." He paused, now studying Damon more carefully. "Why do you care so much? Do you think she's some kind of menace because she's black?"

Did everyone in his life think he was racist? Damon scowled. "Really? That's the route we're gonna take?"

Stefan valiantly tried to hide his laughter behind his hands. "Oh, come on. The look on your face was priceless!" Once he had successfully regained his composure, Stefan stared down at the brownies in his hand. "I should have guessed. You made brownies – and you never make brownies! Not unless the whole world's gone to shit."

Damon's scowl only worsened. So maybe he only baked when he wanted some stress relief. The Salvatore boys ate pretty healthily, dangit! There wasn't much room for brownies or chocolate or berry pound cake in their lives, especially since they didn't work out as often as their friends.

"They're good," Stefan promised, practically inhaling brownies with every breath. Regardless of the brownies' quality, Stefan knew exactly which buttons to press when, and it aggravated Damon far more than he cared to let on.

"School's fine otherwise?"

Now it was Stefan's turn to scowl. "I guess. Tyler and Jeremy still won't talk to each other. I swear, sometimes it's like I'm watching bad reality television."

"That's because you are." Damon reached for a stack of papers and started to skim each page. Thanks to his newfound anxieties, work had been especially brutal this week. Although his adviser had given him the day off, he still had to analyze these last few data sets and determine which ones applied to his thesis. Sometimes, Damon wondered why he was attending grad school instead of turning the Manor into a proper Boarding House. "Weren't you supposed to go to the game tonight?"

Stefan had made vague noises about supporting Tyler and Matt on the field, especially after Vicki had fully recovered. Damon didn't want to discourage Stefan's efforts, even if his friends were incredibly stupid. A football game – especially one with Tyler as starting quarterback - would be the perfect event to take the kid's mind off predictions, spells, and mayhem.

"Yeah, but…" Stefan sighed. "You ever feel like something bad's going to happen, so you should just stay away?"

Damon stood straighter, looking up from his data sets. "How so?"

"I don't know. I just feel really cold, and every time I even think about the game, there's this dark cloud that appears in my head. This swirling, dark cloud… screaming… and a varsity jacket." Stefan rubbed his arms, ignoring the goosebumps that had formed on them. "It feels like death, Damon. Can you… can you come with me?"

This latest vision must have spooked Stefan stiff. Damon hadn't exactly planned on going anywhere, but he had also anticipated hours of work, between analyzing data sets and revising his current research article. Plus, he was a little old for high school melodramatics. Rah, rah, go team, could he just go home and call it a night?

"Jeremy's not going to be there? I was pretty sure he was in charge of filming all of Elena's routines."

Stefan grimaced. "And interrupt his artistic vision? I'd much rather have you nearby."

When Jeremy wasn't dealing drugs to pay for his video games, he experimented with different art mediums – including film. He often toyed with the lighting and the sound in post-production, creating something truly incomprehensible. At least Elena's form was impeccable?

"You might want to film her yourself. You know, for an experience we can enjoy while sober."

"Eh."

Damon muffled a laugh behind his tea mug. "I can drop you off. I would stay, but I really need to finish this data analysis. I even cancelled on Mason, man."

Their list of procedurals had only gotten longer as the weeks passed. Between Damon's hours in the lab and Mason's new job, time just kept slipping through their fingers. Before Damon had quite realized it, cancellations had occurred more frequently than before. Grad school was taking its toll on him in more ways than one, and he hated every moment of it.

"Ouch." Stefan winced sympathetically. "That's fine, I promise. Just drop me off in half an hour and make sure I'm not imagining things."

 

 

 

 

 

Damon didn't miss football games. He didn't miss the loud cheering from obnoxious parents; he didn't miss the jocks staring him down; and he certainly didn't miss ditzy cheerleaders perfecting their routines. He did, however, miss a well-stocked concessions stand. The second Stefan fell into Elena's arms, Damon made a beeline for the concessions and pulled out some cash for drinks.

"Enjoying the game?"

Figures that Bonnie was working the stand tonight. Of all the damn people in this universe… Damon feigned a smile, dumping two dollars on the countertop. "Not planning on it."

She tilted her head to the side. "Then why else would you be here?"

Because he had given Stefan a ride? Damon shrugged with his arms out wide, because this wasn't the conversation he wanted to have, nor was she the person he wanted to see tonight. He had long since grown past high school football games, and as he'd said earlier, he preferred not to relive ancient glory days. Had this been a soccer game, he might have changed his tune. After all, soccer was _his_ sport. "Uh, I do have a younger brother."

"That is perfectly capable of driving himself."

"Under normal circumstances, yeah. He's been a bit under the weather for the past week." Damon sighed, inadvertently glancing over at Stefan. Stefan, thankfully, hadn't noticed; he was far too busy listening to some idle chatter between Elena and Caroline.

"Oh?" Bonnie stashed the cash in a metal box. "Poor kid can't cope with his new powers?"

Damon narrowed his eyes at her. "And what the hell would you know about that?"

"I hear things sometimes." Bonnie shrugged, now pouring him two glasses of lemonade. "A Salvatore child starts feeling under the weather, he's probably growing into his power."

"Uh-huh. I'll be sure to watch out for him sneezing fire."

"Didn't that happen to your grandfather? Kieran Salvatore, if memory serves me right?"

How did she…

Bonnie smothered a smile. Damn that girl and her ability to innocently bat her eyelashes as if nothing had ever happened between them. That innocence would be the death of him if he weren't careful – well, either his death or his arrest, depending on how Aunt Liz saw things.

"I'm impressed, by the way. You're not even _trying_ to booze this up."

"When there's kids around? Forget it." Damon accepted the glasses, ignoring the jolt that passed through him. Bonnie's mere touch was enough to send his brain into sensory overload. "Trust me. If I really wanted a drink, I wouldn't be here."

He turned on his heels and headed back for the bleachers. The sooner he handed off the drinks to Jeremy and Stefan, the sooner he could get home and finish up that section of his paper. Tyler or Matt could always give Stefan a ride back. Damon wasn't too concerned about how the kid got home, just as long as he did (and hopefully without Elena spending the night). This Friday was Tamale night at the Gilberts'! How could Elena pass that up?

Just as he handed Stefan a drink, he watched Matt rush up to the stand with a frantic look in his eyes. Weird, wasn't the kid supposed to be out on the field? The game should have started by now.

"Bonnie!" He called as he cut past everyone else in line, leaning on the counter for support.

Bonnie furrowed her brow. "Matt? What happened?"

"We can't find Coach Tanner." Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I thought he might've been here, but I have no clue where he ran off to. Of all the damn times to get drunk, Coach…."

Stefan furrowed his bow. "Coach Tanner's missing? We just saw him half an hour ago. I thought he was gonna go trashtalk the Whitechapel kids…"

Caroline reached for Elena's arm. "Oohkay, I don't know what's going on, but we should be on the field. They might want us to stall with a routine or two."

Following Caroline's lead, Elena grabbed her pom-poms and ran immediately for the sidelines. Stefan slurped on his lemonade, glancing over at Damon with a knowing (and somewhat exasperated) expression.

Damon held up a finger. "Don't you dare say it…"

"I won't," Stefan grumbled. "I really, really want to, but I won't."

The masochist in Damon knew he had to stay behind and search for Coach Tanner. Man, and he had actually wanted to work tonight! So much for cancelling on Mason and their police procedurals; it seemed that Damon was living them out instead.

"You go ahead and give this to Jeremy," Damon suggested, holding out the other drink. "I'll help Matt look for the douchebag."

Stefan reluctantly took it from his hands. "For starters, you could call him by his name."

"And let him think he knows how to parent you and Elena? Forget it."

Stefan needed a father, Coach Tanner had once said during a rough parent-teacher conference. Stefan needed a father, and Damon sure as hell wasn't it. The words flashed back into his memory, searing his brain for a brief moment as he watched Stefan disappear into the crowd. Dad wouldn't have let Stefan venture out into the world, after watching Stefan's visions come true. If Stefan was right – and his gut instincts usually were – then something was about to unfold, and Damon was the fool who sent him to death's ironclad grasp.

Damon gritted his teeth and headed back to the concession stand. Some girl he didn't recognize had replaced Bonnie.

"Hey mister, if you think you can just cut—"

"Where'd Bonnie go?"

The girl blinked back at him. "Uh, that way," she said, pointing towards the gym.

Without thanking her, he stormed off towards the gym, stuffing his hands in his pockets and willing himself to think about the pile of papers that awaited him at the Manor. The coach was probably drunk, that's all. So drunk off his rocker that he couldn't be arsed to guide some stupid jocks to victory… God, why did people place so much stock into high school football? Those games had been the worst nights of his life, even if Mason had been the best (and only) running-back Damon had ever seen.

As he opened the door, he could hear Jeremy's voice call out, "Tyler, give me back my camera! Come on, you know that's important to me!"

"Oh, just like Vicki is, huh? You can have her when I'm done."

The hell? First a missing coach and now those two buffoons couldn't settle a dispute like adults? Damon really didn't give a damn anymore: he was going to call Mason, and Mason was going to knock some sense into Dickwood Jr. over the phone this weekend.

Right beside the gym, Jeremy, Vicki, and Tyler were having some eerie stand-off, where no one wanted to make the first move. The silence in the air was threatening and all-encompassing, snatching even Damon's will to speak.

The kids didn't notice him – especially not Jeremy. Jeremy pulled back his fist first and struck Tyler. Tyler staggered back, nursing his new bruise before tackling Jeremy straight to the ground.

"Ty! Jer! Don't you—" Vicki's voice was drowned out amidst the rage swirling in Damon's head. "Ty, enough! Stop! You're hurting him!"

"Shut up, Vick! This doesn't involve you!" Tyler nearly slammed his fist into Jeremy, missing by mere centimeters.

"Since _when?_ It's always been about her!" Jeremy yelled in retaliation, pushing Tyler off him. It must have been the lighting – it must have been – because for a brief second, Damon could have sworn that Tyler's eyes glowed yellow.

"Oy, hey! Enough!" Bonnie rushed towards them, reaching for Tyler's wrist and prying the boys away from each other.

Tyler glared at her, squirming in her grasp. When he couldn't break free – when every single effort was in vain – his eyes widened. "What are you?"

Bonnie's lips curled up in the tiniest of smiles. "Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Woman. Now, come on, we've got a missing coach to find." Releasing Tyler unceremoniously, she sighed and moved to the opposite side of the football field.

"Hmph." Tyler scoffed, reaching down for Jeremy's camera and tossing it back to him. Without another word, he headed back in the opposite direction to the locker room, not bothering for the others to follow him.

Jeremy carefully inspected his camera, taking out his SD card and scrutinizing every last inch. Only when he breathed a sigh of relief did he look up and see Damon. "Day…"

"I saw nothing." Damon held up his hands in defeat. "You should head back to the game. Stefan's keeping your drinks cold."

Had Stefan predicted Tyler's and Jeremy's fight? Damon doubted it. High school melodramatics wouldn't have kickstarted the Salvatore genes. No, it had to be something more pressing, because Tyler and Jeremy had been like this for weeks. The boys just kept making terrible life choices, and Damon was forced to suffer the consequences.

Jeremy cradled his camera in his hands as he wearily trudged back towards the bleachers. Silently, Damon slung his arm across the kid's shoulders as he walked in step with him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bonnie talking to someone in the shadows.

"Come on, Anna," Bonnie's voice was exhausted. "You know you're tired of this game just as much as I am. We'll open that tomb… just not at the expense of innocent human life."

"It's innocent human life that'll attract the Salvatore," Anna replied, stepping out of the shadow to brush stray hairs out of Bonnie's face. "Come on, you don't think I noticed how he reacted with that girl?"

Bonnie narrowed her eyes. "You _want_ him to actively distrust you?"

"Well, you won't tell me how to open the tomb." Anna twitched. "I figure, your Van Helsing might hate me enough that we could make a bargain…"

"Or he just might kill you, dear."

Tomb? There was a tomb in this town? So much for thinking he knew everything about this sleepy little town. Damon instinctively reached in his pockets – for some kind of weapon – before he realized that he'd left his grimoire at home.

"Come on, Damon!" Jeremy was yelling, motioning for him to sit near Stefan. "Elena's form is on point!" The one time Jeremy had to be an upstanding member of society….

Damon remained fixed, watching as Anna looked over and gazed into his eyes. He couldn't hear her - not from this point – but he could see her mouth, "I think he's already hurting you."

Just as she turned, she ran straight into a wobbling man, who swung wildly as he reached for Anna's hands. Damon couldn't hear the man's garbled speech – it had to be garbled, from how he couldn't even stand straight – but he could see his grubby hands edge just below Anna's waist.

Anna immediately elbowed him, giving her enough space to turn aand punch him down into the ground. Ignoring the crunch of broken bones, she shook her wrist and loomed over her handiwork. Damon reached out, to pop some of Anna's brain vessels, when Bonnie's voice interrupted his concentration:

"Uh, Anna?"

Anna narrowed her eyes, mouthing, "What."

"I can't hear Coach's heartbeat."

Anna swore under her breath, disappearing into the bleachers and the crowd that would inevitably form afterwards.

Bonnie's eyes started to water as she held a hand to her mouth. Questioningly, she looked up at Damon before she screamed. At the mere sound of her voice, a small crowd immediately swarmed towards the edge of the field. Bonnie shrunk back – no doubt from the scent of the blood streaming down Coach's nose – behind Damon as he approached her. He ignored the sudden jolt of cold air pulsing through his veins as he gazed above the crowd.

Matt broke through the crowd and cradled Coach's body in his arms. "Come on, come on…"

Bonnie grimaced. " _Anna."_

"I thought you had your friend under control," Damon muttered under his breath as he looked at her.

Bonnie glared at him, pressing a finger against his chest. "You don't get to judge that."

He was pretty sure he did! He wasn't sucking people dry to the bone here! Or in this case, punching drunken coaches who tried to hit on underage girls. (Maybe Anna wasn't quite in the wrong? Which was a really weird thought.)

Out of the corner of his eye, Damon observed Stefan and Jeremy weaving their way through the crowd. Jeremy carefully held up his camera, filming the commotion with shaky hands, but Stefan? Stefan's rooted to the ground, watching with anxious eyes as Matt helped the paramedics lift Coach into an ambulance. Coach's tattered varsity jacket caught Damon's eye. Shit, wait, Stefan had said death, football, and a varsity jacket...

Stefan involuntarily stepped back, bumping straight into his brother. Damon instinctively reached for Stefan's hands and held them tightly. In that moment, Damon wished – with all of his heart – that he had just ignored Stefan and kept the kid home.

 

 

 

 

 

Just like that, Coach Tanner had died from a sudden neck fracture. ("He'd tripped over the bleachers in his drunken state," Scumfell reported the following morning. "The coroner's office said they had never seen a cleaner break before.") Damon almost felt bad – almost – for insulting the jackass. No one deserved death by bloodthirsty vampire, even if he'd tried to sexually assault her. This was the weird thing: every time he replayed Jeremy's tape, he couldn't see the blood dripping down from Coach's neck.

Bonnie's little bloodthirsty friend snapped his neck cleanly. She hadn't premeditated it – Damon knew that from Anna's body language – nor had she fed on him like an all-you-can-eat buffet. From the legends, vampires were supposed to suck their victims dry. If neither Bonnie nor Anna were interested in purposefully killing people, then why the hell were they here? Surely it wasn't to live out some normal high school experience. They didn't strike him as masochists.

No, no, Anna had mentioned something about a tomb. If his memory served him right, they had fought about it last week too – so whatever this tomb was, it was important enough to warrant the Coach's death. She wanted to make a bargain with him, huh? He didn't feel like playing games with her, so he should just cut to the chase already. Problem was, how would he find her? At least Bonnie believed in the high school experience. With the upcoming Founder's Day celebration, Damon didn't even feel like leaving the house. As Dad had once said, "Mystic Falls dwells far, far too much on the past to appreciate the present." (No wonder he'd encouraged Damon to study up in Boston.)

Another week had almost passed. This time, Damon had prepared for the inevitable by ramping up his work efficiency and clearing his stacks of paperwork as soon as he could. Misao had whistled softly every morning, when she walked by and noticed the empty trays. At least working with Misao was never really boring - just exhausting as hell.

When Damon returned from work that day, he was promptly greeted to a mug of tea and Stefan holding up two ties.

"Which one should I wear?"

Damon blinked, staring back at his kid brother. While he remembered that the Founder's Day celebration was coming up, he had entirely forgotten that… well, it was today.

Stefan usually asked him for fashion advice, and as per tradition, Damon had been far too distracted with schoolwork and vampires to truly help. "Uh, whichever matches Elena's dress. She's into that stuff, right?"

Stefan wrinkled his nose. "Problem is, I don't know what dress she's wearing. Which one's more neutral: the purple or the blue?"

Why Stefan trusted his older brother's sense of fashion, Damon would never know. Lazily, he pointed at the purple.

"Got it. Blue, then." Stefan set the purple tie back in his closet.

Damon snorted. "Classic, go for the opposite of your big bro's advice. You looking forward to the Founder's Day Party?"

Stefan shrugged, adjusting his sleeves. "Eh. I don't quite feel like celebrating after Coach's death, and you always rag about how racist this town is."

"Because it _is_ ," Damon sighed, running a hand through his hair. If college had taught him anything, it was that small towns – especially ones like Mystic Falls – didn't know the meaning of diversity, because they were so damn rooted in traditions that didn't matter. "I get it, the founding of this town's important. I don't get why the Founding Families are the big deal, and not, you know, the Founding Families' _slaves_."

Stefan winced. "That's a really good question, but not one I have the answers to."

No one did. Frankly, Damon planned on leaving as soon as Stefan graduated high school. He could easily wrap up his thesis in the remaining year and a half and find a professorship - or heck, an actual job - in another town. If it weren't for Stefan, Damon would have honestly graduated from his program a good six months ago.

"I can't convince you to go?" Stefan asked, staring at his reflection as he worked on his tie. Damon rose from his seat and reached for Stefan's tie. Sure, his kid brother was old enough to tie it himself. Damon knew that, somewhere in the back of his mind. Right now, he couldn't see that grown-up man – just his eleven year old brother in a ridiculously fancy monkey suit.

"Nope," Damon said, deftly tightening the last knot. For a moment, Damon lingered over the tie, reluctantly letting it go oand inspecting his handiwork. "I have to say, brother, you clean up quite nicely."

Stefan smiled warmly, with an aura of awe that Damon rarely saw in the kid. "Thanks."

"Actually, you know what?" Damon was dreading the words the second they escaped his lips. "I suppose I can spare a minute or two. We did, after all, lend them some stuff for the big celebration."

Stefan pumped his fist in the air, before awkwardly clutching his wrist. "Yes! I mean, Elena and I'll see you later."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tradition was a word Damon had long since come to loathe. Tradition ruled over Mystic Falls with an ironclad fist, and it wasn't even the positive kind like making gingerbread cookies every Christmas. No, every year, they had to laud the (white) Founding Families that had seized land from the Siouan tribe. The past three generations – from Granddad Kieran to Damon – wrestled with the government to recognize the true founders, but every attempt had been laughed out of City Council.

Yet it was this same tradition that accounted for elaborate celebrations at the Lockwood Manor. As he waited in line, Damon held his breath and waited with a heavy heart. Just as he had given up all hope of enjoying the evening, Bonnie sneakily waltzed beside him. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey yourself." Damon raised an eyebrow. "You need me to get in?"

"No need. The Bennetts are also a Founding Family." Bonnie smiled coyly at him, locking her arm within his. "I _was_ going to bring Jeremy as a date, but he said he had plans."

Damon resisted the urge to laugh. Of course Jeremy would ditch a night like this for video games or artwork. When the kid got stressed, he tended to lose himself in fictional worlds strengthened by his imagination. If the kid didn't publish a comic about his crazy stories one day, Damon would be thoroughly surprised.

Bonnie gently breathed on his neck. "I must say, I don't mind this change of plan…"

"Hey!" Damon jumped rigidly, trying not to attract more attention as he patted down the rest of his arm. "I mean, don't get your hopes up."

"You really are a jumpy one," Bonnie said with a slight giggle. "I wonder how most girls stand it."

The short answer: they didn't. Damon hadn't had a proper girlfriend since college, and while he had passionately loved the girl at the time, Andie had bigger ambitions. The last he heard of her, she had become a news anchor in Boston.

Mayor Lockwood and his wife greeted them warmly at the door. "Damon!" Aunt Carol greeted, leaning forward and kissing him lightly on the forehead. "I thought you said you couldn't make it?"

"My plans cancelled on me," he said apologetically, returning the embrace – and glaring ever-so-slightly at Dickwood Sr.

Mayor Lockwood, however, just smiled wistfully in return. "I sure wish Mason could've joined us this year. You two always were inseparable."

Bonnie shot him a confused glance. "You and Mayor Lockwood's brother?"

"Oh, they were the best of friends, dear. You must be…?" Aunt Carol held out a hand expectantly.

"Bonnie Bennett, ma'am. Sheila's granddaughter?" Bonnie smiled, extending her hand and firmly shaking Aunt Carol's.

A wave of understanding washed over Aunt Carol's face. "Right, right! I'm glad to see that you've properly escorted her, Damon. Come right in, Bonnie."

As they crossed the threshold, Bonnie sighed of relief, though she didn't let go of Damon's arm.

"What, were you afraid they wouldn't let you in?"

She didn't reply, instead silently glancing over the rest of the partygoers. Her silence was enough of a reply for Damon, so he released her from his grasp and migrated towards the buffet. While he didn't want to stay, the food was more than worth it for him. Noticing Aunt Liz and her familiar badge from the other side of the room, Damon bowed his head respectfully. Aunt Liz smiled warmly in return.

The food was excellent, per Lockwood tradition. Loading up on stuffed mushrooms, Damon felt a light tap on his shoulder.

"Hey," Jenna called, leaning over to see his plates. "You should leave some for the rest of us."

"Oh, I thought you were still on one of your juice cleanses."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Very funny, Day. I didn't think you could make it! You sounded like you were drowning in paperwork."

"Stefan made a pretty darn convincing case," Damon ceded, piling more food on his plate. "I thought I might listen to it for once."

"Oooor you just wanted the free food." Jenna sipped on her wine, swishing the glass thoughtfully.

"Or that."

Just as they left to explore the rest of the Manor – or rather, sneak back to Mason's room and play Cards Against Humanity – an all-too familiar voice interrupted, "Why, if it isn't Jenna Sommers."

Damon twitched. "Logan."

He thought he had seen the last of Logan Fell at Graduation, when smug Scumfell had proudly accepted his diploma up on stage. Truth was, Damon had never given him the time of day outside of the morning news – and as they faced off, Damon couldn't help noticing how he had to look _down_ at Scumfell this time.

"Damon." Logan held out a hand expectantly, with a blinding smile that almost made Damon reach for sunglasses. "It's been far, far too long."

Like Damon would shake this jerk's hand. He stared at Logan, before promptly stuffing his face with tempura shrimp.

Jenna nearly smacked Damon in the head. Instead, she folded her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. "I thought I might see you here."

"You knew," Logan grinned, pointing his fingers back at her.

"I dreaded."

"But were secretly hoping…" Logan must have been desperate, to lobby the compliments so fast and furiously.

Jenna gave Damon an all-knowing look before she sighed, blowing hair out of her face. "And now that I have… What do you want?"

"Whoa, hey, not so fast. I know you, Sommers. You and Salvatore have a lot more insults in you than that."

Damon squinted at him. "Your hairline's receding."

Logan glared, just as Jenna ducked to hide her laughter. "Want to have lunch?" Logan asked, somewhat cheerfully.

"Nope," Damon answered for her, in-between bites of shrimp tempura and stuffed mushrooms. "Not a chance in hell."

Jenna smiled at Damon through gritted teeth, just as Logan tsked at them both. "Oh, still fighting like a married couple. How cute."

Jenna and Damon exchanged glances before Jenna reached over for his tempura shrimp and finished it off. They stood there in silence for what felt like forever, hoping to dear God that Logan would just grab some food and leave them alone…

"I'm over the banter, Logan. I'd really rather you just leave me alone." Jenna sighed, helping herself to another glass of wine.

"I'm sorry about your sister, Jenna." Logan, for the first time in possibly years, sounded completely genuine as he reached for two glasses of wine. "Damon, you okay with white wine?"

"Um, yeah." Damon blinked back surprise, tossing his empty plate into the trash before accepting the glass Logan had offered. It couldn't be poisoned – not with everyone here watching him – so what was this guy's ulterior motive?

"Thank you," Jenna said softly.

"I did come to the funeral."

Damon resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. "We know, we saw you."

Ignoring Damon's jab, Logan stared straight at Jenna. "Yeah, I didn't want to push my way in, but I wanted to be there for you. And when I heard you were staying in Mystic Falls, I thought maybe... Well, maybe I could have a second chance to make things right."

"In hell, maybe," Damon grumbled under his breath.

"Yeah, well… you had your second chance when Damon came back, and you never apologized for the way you treated him and Mason back in the day." Jenna sighed.

A glimmer of something – regret, maybe? – flashed in Logan's eyes as he ordered yet another drink for them. At this point in the evening, Damon really just wanted to get home while he was still sober. Not to mention, he had completely lost track of Bonnie.

He peered over at the dance floor nearby, at the couples happily waltzing the night way, and blinked as he watched Stefan glide over with Bonnie. His kid brother – the very one who hated dancing more than anything in the world – had willingly agreed to dance with her? Not to mention, he was actually good at it?

Jenna followed his gaze and quietly whistled at the sight. "Looks like Stef's growing up."

"Oh, right, your brother…" Logan hummed, offering a drink to Jenna. "He's not a little kid anymore."

"So what's this?" Jenna stared skeptically at the drink.

"Vodka tonic. Okay, I know that this is probably going to be strike three, but I hope you can see it for what it is."

Jenna had to ask, "Which is?"

"Persistence, groveling, commitment. Take your pick."

"How about none of the above?" Damon called, reaching for Jenna's arm in case she wanted an out.

"Look, I was… I was young and stupid," Logan sighed, stuffing his hands into his blazer's pockets. "Then things changed. Life got...real. You two would know that better than anyone, what with Damon's parents in Italy and your sister, Jenna…"

Jenna pressed her lips together. "Hypothetically speaking, if you were allowed, how would you make things right?"

"Well, more groveling, of course. A recap of the past few years spent soul searching. Cheese fries."

Damon snorted, just as Jenna said, "Obviously."

Logan mockingly bowed. "I know my audience."

Jenna reached instinctively for Damon's hand. He held her hand tightly, hiding it behind her dress. "Then I say yes, on one condition. Day has to tag along."

Instead of waiting for Logan's response, she pulled Damon towards the dance floor and guided him into a proper dancing position. While she knew how much Damon adored dancing, usually, Jenna preferred to stay on the sidelines. Her sudden retreat into the music worried Damon, even if he didn't want to say so out loud.

"Are you stupid?" Damon whispered in her ear. "Douchebags like him don't change their stripes so easily."

"I know." Jenna leaned in, placing her arms around his shoulders. "I just think… I keep thinking it's my fault somehow, even though he was the reason I fled town. Between him, and Coach Tanner dying, I don't… I don't know what to think."

That might have been the alcohol talking. While Jenna could knock them back with the boys, she also couldn't control her thoughts once she had enough in her. Damon had been privy to more than one blunt thought over the years.

"Then think about the people who actually matter, and who actually give a damn about you." He said, twirling her around. "You'll find that guy sooner than you think, Jen, and I'm willing to bet money that he isn't Scumfell."

Just as the next song started to play, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Bonnie and Stefan smiled at them expectantly.

"Hey guys," Jenna said, breaking away from Damon and embracing Stefan. "Don't you look nice!"

Stefan almost blushed from the sudden affection. "Thanks. You look great too."

"Where'd Elena run off to?" Damon asked, again scanning the room for signs of the elusive Gilbert. "Aunt Miranda looked forward to this every year, and you know how 'Lena gets…"

"No idea." Stefan shrugged. "I figured she probably made a beeline for the brownies." Good to know that sometimes, the ever infatuated 'Stelena' (as Damon mockingly called them) could spend time apart from one another.

"In the meantime, Ms. Jenna, can I borrow your dance partner?" Bonnie said, stepping closer to Damon.

Jenna nodded, lightly ruffling Damon's hair as she brushed past him. "Easily. Come on, Stefan, let's go upstairs. I heard your grandmother's wedding rings were on display!"

Once Jenna and Stefan had disappeared upstairs, Bonnie casually moved closer to Damon and rested her arms on his shoulders.

"I must ask, did you use your Jedi mind trick to get Stefan to dance?"

She shook her head. "The second I mentioned wanting to dance, Elena gave him up easily."

"Soooo did you use it on Elena?"

Bonnie shot him an exasperated look. "Yes, let's try to use compulsion on the vervain-drinking girl. That works fantastically."

He laughed, despite himself. "I don't know. Your kind's tried it before."

"My kind… Mm, we're not all that bad, Salvatore." She leaned in closer, moving in perfect rhythm with the melody. Damon, truth be told, wasn't the best at dancing. Without a decent partner, he would have been hopelessly lost on the floor. Bonnie, however, knew the movements so fluidly she could dance in her sleep.

"Are you?"

The question wasn't supposed to be rhetorical. Bonnie was a true enigma – neither foe nor friend – and the more Damon tried to unravel her, the more questions he had unearthed.

She allowed him to twirl her, guiding him into the proper position. "They have the original guest registry upstairs, you know."

"So Stefan and Elena told me." Damon didn't really care about ancestors in that sense. "Giuseppe's up there, along with his kid Zachariah." He paused, staring at Bonnie. "But you wouldn't be, would you? They wouldn't have you up there, because you were a slave."

The mere word caused her to flinch. "Indeed. You're quick on the uptake, Salvatore."

"Quicker than most of the people around here." The words weren't supposed to tumble out so bitterly, like he resented these parties and suits and old history that erased the experiences of so many other people. "So how are you still part of a Founding Family? Did Giuseppe give one of your relatives their freedom?"

She must have recognized the accidental attitude, because she gently pulled him back towards the side of the dance floor. "Yeah. Something like that."

As they sat down on a nearby bench, they watched Elena walk past them, flanked by Aunt Carol.

"Elena honey, there you are!"

Elena turned on her heels, looking up at Aunt Carol. "Yes ma'am?"

"I noticed that the watch still isn't in the collection."

Guiltily, Elena stared down at the floor. "Oh, um, I'm sorry, Mrs. Lockwood. I, um, I couldn't find it. I guess it's still packed up in my parents' stuff somewhere."

Aunt Carol sighed, feigning a smile so fake that Damon could smell it from a mile away. "I see. Well, please let me know if you do find it."

Elena nodded. "Okay."

As Aunt Carol disappeared upstairs, Damon reached out and lightly tapped Elena's back. "Oy! What was that all about?"

Elena shrugged, turning to face Damon and Bonnie. "What do you mean?"

Damon squinted at her. "I know you, 'Lena. If Aunt Carol asked you for something, you'd turn the entire house upside down to find it."

She shrugged. "Jeremy wanted to keep it, since you know…"

Since it was a family heirloom that would undoubtedly be passed to him. Damon nodded in sympathy. "Right. Mum's the word."

Elena smiled at him gratefully, before leaning in and kissing him on the forehead. "Thanks, Day. Have you seen Stefan? I was hoping he was still around here."

"He was upstairs with your Aunt Jenna," Bonnie said, gesturing towards the stairs, just as Stefan and Jenna were amicably talking to each other.

Elena gave her an appreciative smile, running towards her boyfriend and latching onto his arm.

Once they were alone again, Bonnie pulled her knees closer to her. "The Gilbert watch? Was that what Mrs. Lockwood wanted?"

Damon shrugged. "Who really knows. I don't pay much attention to the history of this place."

"Of course you don't." Bonnie laughed lightly, shaking her head at him. "You are quite possibly the strangest man I've ever had the fortune of encountering, Salvatore."

Why, because he hated history? Because he'd rather live in the present and seize life by its throat? Wasn't that how most people outside of this town lived? Damon regarded her curiously, not for the first time since they'd met.

"I'm gonna grab some food to go," Damon said, rising to his feet and heading towards the dining room. "Planning on joining me, Ms. Bennett?"

She shook her head. "Go ahead. I'll find dinner elsewhere."

When he stopped mid-stride, she clarified, "There's a couple of deer outside. Like I told you, I don't eat people."

"I mean, your diet could've been Soylent Green for all I know."

She giggled again. "I'll see you around, Salvatore."

They parted ways, allowing Damon to weave through the late stragglers towards his kid brother. Stefan was sitting by himself at one of the smaller tables, with a book at his side. While Damon couldn't make out the text, thanks to the dim lighting, he could see that the candles had all been extinguished.

He would have re-lit them, as a favor for Aunt Carol, when she brushed past Damon and sighed at one of the waitresses nearby. "Look around. What's missing?" She gestured wildly to each table. "The flames, the candles. Why aren't they lit? There's matches in the kitchen."

As she stomped off, Damon could distinctly hear Stefan say, "Rude much?"

Damon leaned against the door frame, watching as Stefan stared intently at the candle. He held his hand out, mouthing out words – "Fire?" – only for nothing to happen. Stefan frowned, returning to his book. In that instant, without Damon lifting a single finger, every single candle's flame blazed brightly.

Wait.

Damon hadn't even snapped his fingers and the candles just… just lit themselves up? Stefan glanced up, rising to his feet and admiring the bright flames emulating from each one. The fire trickled down to the kid's fingers – and although Stefan's hand never burned up, Damon could see the awe in the kid's eyes.

Stefan's magic had already arrived. It was far, far too late for Damon to even try to pretend it wouldn't come.


	7. Chapter 7

There were only so many voicemails and emails Damon could send before his inner desperation manifested itself. Just when he got Mom's voicemail – again- he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to focus on the rhythm of his breathing. Okay, so he didn't know how to guide Stefan through this milestone in life. He had promised Mom and Dad he would keep Stefan in the dark, but how long could Damon stay silent? Someone needed to steer Stefan on the straight path. Damon didn't think he could be that person, but dammit, Mom and Dad sure couldn't help.

Leaving Mom yet another frantic voicemail ("So Stefan lit candles all by himself at the Lockwood's, and I don't think I can keep the cat in the bag much longer…"), he hung up his phone and tucked it in his pocket. To make matters slightly more stressful, Damon couldn't find his candles. While he wouldn't normally fret about them, Damon utilized candles to mask the supernatural stench of his magic during synthesis. No candles, no properly hidden synthesis.

The last time he had gone without candles, Stefan complained about the residue for a whole week! Proper synthesis kept Damon's sanity in check when little else could, so he needed to find those ASAP. For safety reasons, Damon didn't keep them in the basement. There was enough magical mumbo jumbo floating around without the added worry of the entire place going ablaze. After thoroughly searching the entire house – including his bedroom – Damon ceded to his better judgment and performed a locator spell.

He had to have casted the spell wrong. He had to, because Stefan wouldn't sneak candles into his bedroom. The last time Stefan had attempted anything remotely romantic or old-fashioned, he asked Damon first for the Salvatore stash. So Damon tried again.

And again.

Each result was the same: the candles were up in Stefan's room. With a heavy heart, Damon trudged upstairs and carefully opened his kid brother's door. He didn't know what he would find, but he hadn't expected a whole barrage of candles by the window.

His kid brother was just sitting on the bed, clutching a thick candle in his hands. Stefan inhaled slowly and deeply, staring intently at the candle until its wick burst into flame.

Damon spoke first. "Uh."

Stefan jumped, nearly dropping the candle on the floor. "I-I can explain!" Cautiously, he set the candle down on a candelabra. "I think. It's been a really, really weird week."

"I'm sure you can," Damon said slowly, pulling Stefan's desk chair over and sitting on it backwards. Leaning on the back of the chair, he rested his arms across it and observed Stefan carefully. The kid was definitely handling this a hell of a lot better than he expected. "You lit the candle yourself with nothing but your willpower, right?"

"Not exactly. It has to be some kind of external energy transfer, but…"

Typical Stefan, looking to science for the answers rather than the supernatural. Holding out his arm, Stefan took a breath and focused on the nearby candle. It flickered for a second before extinguishing itself. "You're… taking this a lot better than I thought you would."

Of course he was. Damon wasn't the one just finding out that magic existed, considering how it pulsed through his veins every second of the day. Of all the secrets he had hidden from his brother, their magic was the one that burdened his heart the most. Damon should've been happy, watching as the barrage of candles floated around Stefan and lit themselves. The kid's raw power was almost staggering – clearly, Stefan had much better control than Damon had at that age.

"Not the strangest thing I've seen," Damon admitted, his eyes flickering between Stefan and the floating ring of candles. "We _are_ from Mystic Falls. The town earned the name for a reason, right?"

Stefan folded his arms. "You're hiding something from me."

"There's a floating ring of candles around you," Damon pointed out. "If you're trying to make me think you're either crazy or a Super Saiyan, congratulations, because they're equally plausible right now."

"Oh, come on," Stefan whined, "I don't even have spiky hair."

"You've got hero hair. That's a pretty close second."

That just earned him a glare from Stefan (but it was so worth it). "Look, I don't know what this whole thing is, but I'm pretty sure it's some kind of energy transfer. I can mentally transfer my heat from my fingertips to candles and—"

"It's _magic,_ Stefan. You're a wizard, baby brother."

The candles extinguished themselves, wobbling in height as their flames extinguished with a huff. Just before they hit the ground, Damon snapped his fingers and guided them back to their original resting spot. Stefan stepped back, hiding his stunned expression behind his hands as his gaze shifted between Damon's hand and the floating candles.

"No," Stefan said softly, his hand shaking as he pointed at his brother, "I think _you_ are."

This was completely uncharted territory: Damon rarely kept secrets from Stefan, and when he did, they had never been of this magnitude. Surprise parties and birthday presents couldn't quite hold a candle to supernatural powers, and goddamn, Damon had kept this under lock and key for how many years now?

So Damon rose to his feet and cautiously held his hands up as he inched closer. "And if I were?"

Stefan's voice cracked ever-so-slightly as he said, "I want to know why you wouldn't tell me."

Every single day, Damon asked himself that same question. God, he couldn't even look at Stefan right now. Rubbing his arms nervously, Damon rolled up his sleeves and stared down at the wood paneling on the floor.

"I…" Damon inhaled sharply. The words refused to come out. They jutted tightly against his throat, closing his vocal cords up before he could get another breath through. "I wish I could give you a good excuse." He deserved every iota of Stefan's (well-justified) ire. No words would magically absolve him of blame here.

Stefan sniffled, his entire frame shaking so heavily that Damon knew without a shadow of doubt the kid was holding back tears. "What would yours have been?"

"I wanted to give you a normal life." The half-lie stung, but he couldn't implicate his parents too. If it were truly Mom and Dad's fault, Damon would have set the truth free a long, long time ago. "When I found out I had magic, high school became crazier than crazy… and I couldn't let you have that. I didn't want you to suffer through what I did."

Silence was his only reply for what felt like eternity. Finally daring to look up, Damon saw Stefan furiously rubbing his eyes with his sleeves, burying himself in his clothing. He'd done this to Stefan in less than five minutes. Dammit, he sure felt like the Worst Brother of the Year right now.

"You wanted to protect me?" Stefan's voice was soft, almost disbelieving. "You have the stupidest way of showing it, _akhi._ "

Damon smothered a laugh. "I can't be perfect all the time now, can I?"

Without another word, he closed the distance between them and pulled Stefan into the tightest hug possible. Allowing Stefan's head to rest of his shoulder, he gently leaned forward and said, "I'm sorry."

Stefan just stood there dumbly, with perplexed eyes, before he returned the embrace. "You should be."

Just for that, Damon thoroughly ruffled his kid brother's hair. Sure, it took Stefan a good ten minutes every morning to get it just right, but who was he trying to impress right now?

"And to think," Stefan continued, shaking his head disapprovingly at Damon as he let go, "My first instinct was to tell you all about my crazy new powers. Show you that maybe your crazy novels were onto something."

"Oh? Trying to insult my taste in reading now, are you?"

"I've always done that." Stefan chuckled, clinging a little to Damon's arm. "I swear, I can't leave you alone in a bookstore for a minute before you pull out something trashy."

"At least I'm reading." As much as Damon could, considering that he was a graduate student in cognitive psych with almost no life whatsoever. Even with the mayhem Bonnie and Anna caused, most of his waking life was devoted to his schoolwork and presentations.

Stefan rolled his eyes. "So, um… what should we tell Mom and Dad? Did they know about your powers, or are we just not gonna tell them?"

Figures he'd have to ask. Damon had never planned for an instance where Stefan would discover his powers before Mom and Dad arrived home for Christmas, and he certainly didn't want them to end up on the receiving end of Stefan's wrath.

"You can tell them," Damon replied cautiously, for once thinking through each word before he said them out loud, "Just… don't get too mad at them. I wasn't the only one who wanted to give you a normal life."

Stefan glanced at him curiously. "So Mom asked you to keep it a secret?"

When Damon didn't respond, Stefan's entire expression softened, and for the first time that day, Damon could see the faintest hint of a smile on his brother's face. "I thought you never listened to them."

"There's a first time for everything, right?"

Stefan snorted, gathering up the rest of the candles for his older brother. "For you? Maybe."

Damon held the door open for Stefan and walked back downstairs with him. After Stefan carefully placed the candles back in the basket designated for them, Damon pulled out the grimoire and held it up to Stefan's face.

"What's this?" Stefan asked, accepting the book and tracing his fingers around the embroidered edges.

"A grimoire. It's… kind of like your collection of spells. No decent wizard goes without one."

While Damon didn't care much for physical grimoires (they got heavy!), Stefan was so old-fashioned that he would enjoy writing everything down on paper. If the kid kept diaries for so long, certainly he could be arsed to keep track of his spells by hand.

Stefan flipped through the pages, stopping only when he saw Damon's handwriting and crudely drawn rune circles. "You drew this? For me?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Damon said with a small grin. "Every wizard gets their own grimoire, right? I didn't want yours to be a blank slate. Dad copied some of his starter spells for me, so I figured I should pay the favor forward."

"Dad?" Stefan stared at Damon disbelievingly. "Dad's a wizard too? He wouldn't know magic if it slapped him in the face."

Damon involuntarily winced. "Not entirely true. He's one of those weird scientific wizards who thinks magic's real, but there's always some scientific explanation behind it."

"Because there is."

Of course. Of course Stefan would follow exactly in Dad's footsteps in his attempts to seek out the logical patterns in magic. Damon should have predicted this. Except he didn't, and Stefan was already mumbling something about homeostasis and external energy transfers and how on Earth the human body could simply transfer energy through sheer willpower.

Stefan stood there for a while, his gaze fixated on every single word Damon had painstakingly copied. Just when Damon thought he could quietly slip out the door, he heard his brother call, "Day?"

"Hm?"

Damon was almost out the door. He could still synthesize a potion if he hurried, and while he could theoretically introduce Stefan to the wonderful world of alchemy, the poor kid was still reeling from magic's sheer existence. Damon didn't want to overload the kid's brain this early in the game, when Stefan technically had the rest of his life to learn and discover various forms of magic. No sense in cramming it all in on the first day.

"Thank you."

"No problem." Damon leaned against the door frame. "Do you…?"

"I think I'm good for now. I just wanna sit down with this for a while." Stefan tilted his head as he looked at Damon. "Are you heading back to work?"

"Kinda." Damon gestured to his pile of candles. "I'll be in the basement if you need me."

Stefan nodded in acknowledgement, hurrying to help Damon with the door. "Okay." He hesitated, biting on his upper lip. "So what does yours look like? Your book of spells, I mean."

"I'll show you when you're ready, young Skywalker," Damon cheekily answered, closing the door behind him with a flick of his wrist.

He could hear Stefan groan _._ Loudly. "It's your tablet, isn't it? You're surgically attached to that thing!" before he heard the thump of Stefan's body against the bed and the flipping of pages.

Sometimes, his dumb brother was far, far smarter than Damon ever gave him credit for.

 

 

 

 

 

Over the course of the following week, Stefan found his sense of curiosity. While the first few questions were relatively normal ("what does this incantation mean?"), Damon couldn't entirely keep up with the kid's voracious appetite for knowledge. Which was a big problem, considering that Damon had the additional stress of a presentation to manage. Thankfully, said presentation wasn't for a couple of weeks. With the data he had combed through, he could assemble a decent enough talk for the Augustine Society.

In-between his seminars and Stefan's fast and furious questions, Damon had barely noticed the changes in his brother's demeanor. That Saturday, however, the car wash had triggered something to change Stefan's entire demeanor. Stefan had agreed to help with 'Sexy Suds,' the car wash the kids had planned to raise money for Coach Tanner's family. As a good older brother, Damon promised to drop Stefan off and pay for them to wash Mom's old car.

Scumfell had taped the event for the local news. Damon knew, because he saw the news cameras the second he had handed over his car to Caroline and Elena. Resisting the urge to punch Scumfell in inappropriate places, Damon had instead given his money to Caroline and watched as she and Elena eagerly rinsed off the dust on his mother's car.

"Kinda hard to sexualize someone I still think is seven," he'd called, raising an eyebrow at Elena's swimsuit.

Elena almost smacked him with her washcloth. "Am I at least seven and a half?"

"On a good day."

Stefan, who had been watching nearby, bit on his lower lip to hide his laughter. That amused kid wasn't quite the same one who had returned home nearly seven hours later. (Damon would've stayed, but data sets didn't exactly analyze themselves.)

Instead of the couple hundred questions Damon usually received, his kid brother had immediately changed into more modest clothes, pulled out one of his journals, and buried himself in his thoughts. The lack of attention was a startling relief – maybe tonight, Damon could get through all of his data sets in peace.

He'd maybe analyzed only half of the numbers in the last set when Stefan asked, "When you lose control, how do you rein it in?"

"I try to snap myself out of it. Touch works pretty well." Damon saved and set down his laptop to look at Stefan better. Of course, his kid brother had already opened his grimoire alongside his regular diary. Already, his grimoire was filled to the brim with hastily-written post-it notes on each page. "Did you set something on fire?"

Stefan winced. "Kind of."

"It happens." Damon knew that feeling all too well. "You learn to handle it, and hey, sometimes you branch out and mess up with other elements."

"Like what?"

"Besides fire, you've got wind spells, levitation, healing spells, protection wards..."

"You can heal?" Stefan whistled softly, his eyebrows rising as he made a note to himself in his opened grimoire. (No doubt something simple like 'ask Damon about healing spells.') "Like what you see in video games?"

Damon waved his hand from side to side. "Not quite. Jeremy's video games get 'em about half-right, but the concept's the same." He paused, staring down at his kid brother's furious scribbles. "There's no exam, Stefanizo. I'm not testing you on any of this."

"It makes me feel better…"

In what sense? Damon hadn't even given him the incantations, for heaven's sake! "We're gonna start slow. Come on, you just learned how to make candles float and set things on fire. We can't make things explode just yet."

"We?"

He had said 'we,' hadn't he? Damon hesitated, staring out at the window just behind Stefan. "Yeah, you and me," Damon said after some deliberation. While he wanted to be the aloof, free-spirited older brother, his parents hadn't given him much choice in the matter. "You didn't think I'd keep all the fun for myself, did you?"

Stefan's face hardened. Calmly closing his grimoire, he stared directly into his older brother's eyes. "Am I allowed to tell anyone about my powers? Besides Mom and Dad?"

Good question. Damon still hadn't told most of his friends precisely because a normal life didn't entail wizards and witches and vampires. It didn't entail hours spent chasing down the supernatural, just to ensure that they wouldn't wreak havoc on the moral world. It sure as hell didn't mean that he was teaching his younger brother how to defend himself against thirsty bloodsuckers either.

"If Jenna and Elena and Jeremy don't know, I'm guessing they're out of the picture…" Stefan looked thoughtful. "How do you normally handle our dinners? Is there, like, a guide for acting normal?"

If only. Damon resisted the urge to ruffle Stefan's hair. "If there was, I would've bought it for you years ago."

Stefan glared at him so fiercely that Damon instinctively checked his shoulders for fire. "Very funny. You promise, you'll let me know if I'm acting too weird?"

"Kinda like now, you mean?"

"Gee, thanks." Stefan sighed, reaching for his coat and tucking his grimoire into his pocket. "Come on, we're gonna be late for dinner. I don't think my stomach can take another one of Jenna's concoctions…"

Forget Stefan's stomach. If they didn't hurry over there, the Gilberts wouldn't have enough medicine to deal with the violent bowel movements that sometimes accompanied Jenna's creation of the week. No wonder Jeremy had taken over the reins in the kitchen. Even when that boy was high out of his mind, he cooked better than his relatives.

Preparing dinner at the Gilberts' was simple enough: Jenna had bought all the ingredients for Chicken Parmesan, so Damon instructed her on how to properly prepare it. Once they'd placed the dish in the oven and chopped salad ingredients, Damon's phone buzzed with a new text.

**Dude, you HAVE to stop canceling our skype dates 8|||| my therapist is starting to be more reliable than you**

Damon couldn't stifle his laughter. Thanks to all the recent excitement, he had completely forgotten to reschedule a proper video call with his best friend. At least this week, work had overshadowed his social life, and not, say, a vampire attack.

I'd hope I'm less reliable than your therapist. Next Friday good?

**Fine by me but youd better show up. Last time you forgot jules made me watch 6 hours of fashion disasters. 6!!!!**

Damon was then verbally assaulted by a barrage of frowny-face emojis, each one slightly redder than the one before it. Sometimes, he kind of wished he weren't separated so far from Mason. If Mason were here, then they wouldn't have these scheduling snafus. Damon could drag him around town, and Mason could act as his bodyguard while Damon casted spells to his heart's content. Sure, they'd have to tell Jenna their big secret eventually – but he had promised he'd tell her before he died. In the meantime, he struggled to rein in his laughter as he stared at his phone.

"What's so funny?" Elena called, looking up from her cup of tea as she sat at the dining room table.

Jenna peered over his shoulder. "Mason watched _Fashion Disasters_? I didn't think it was his kind of show."

"It's not," Damon said. "I had to cancel on him, so Jules figured it was the next best thing." At least this week, schoolwork had prompted the cancellation; if it had been more vampire mayhem, Damon didn't think he could handle the additional stress.

"Who's Jules?" Jeremy flopped down onto the barstool across from them. "I know Mason and Sheena, 'cause I've seen all the pictures, but she's Mystery Woman."

"Mystery Woman is Mason's new girlfriend." Jenna headed for the sink and poured explained water into a tall pitcher. "We haven't met her yet, but anyone that can guilt him into trashy reality TV is our friend."

"Speaking of girlfriends…" Jeremy's face looked just a bit more hopeful. "Is it okay if I bring mine over for dinner sometime?"

Jenna and Damon exchanged uncertain glances. While Stefan and Elena were dating, Stefan certainly didn't act lovey-dovey with Elena at the dinner table. Romantic relationships didn't define the Salvatore-Gilbert dinners, so allowing Jeremy's girlfriend to join them could set a nasty precedent.

"You mean Vicki?" Jenna said, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you and Tyler were still duking it out."

Jeremy shrugged, avoiding Jenna's gaze as he rose to his feet and grabbed plates. "Well, she said she liked me, and maybe it'll work out this time."

"This time." Damon repeated disbelievingly.

"What about this time?" Stefan called, emerging from upstairs.

Elena rushed to his side, setting the tea cup in the dishwasher. "Nothing!"

"I want to bring my girlfriend over," Jeremy explained, rolling his eyes as he set the table. "Jenna and Damon thinks it's a bad idea, even though you and Elena get to see each other at dinner."

"I'm also partially family," Stefan said. "I don't think I really count as Elena's boyfriend here."

"Do too." Elena kissed him on the cheek. "Why else did you promise to help out with Sexy Suds?"

"You really called it that?" Damon furrowed his brow. No matter how many times he heard the name, it sounded especially impudent (and inappropriate) this year. They were raising money for a dead man, not trying to hypersexualize every teenager in a ten mile radius, for crying out loud.

"Caroline did," said Elena. "We agreed to the name and to helping her out because that is exactly what proper friends do. Plus, Stefan did such a great job this year! He and Caroline ran the whole show."

"Um, yeah," Stefan agreed weakly, suddenly distracted by the oven timer.

Jeremy, however, stared pointedly at the door. Damon could make out Vicki's silhouette as she slowly slinked towards everyone else. Never before had Damon been so glad that he and Jenna always prepared for far more people than they were expecting. Sometimes, more people wandered over – and some nights, unexpected (and kind of unwanted) guests invited themselves in.

"Well, don't proper friends also accept—"

"You're pushing it, Jer," Jenna said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Oh, no, it's okay," Vicki said, holding her hands up in slight defeat. "I know when I'm not wanted."

"Not exactly the problem. You're still welcome to join us," Stefan called, ever the polite host. "Jeremy just never mentioned you were coming."

"I just did," Jeremy protested.

"Five minutes ago doesn't count."

Jeremy groaned loudly, only for everyone else – save Vicki – to burst into laughter. Jer must have really loved this girl, to risk embarrassment at their weekly dinners, and she must care for him (even if only an iota) for her to risk angering Dickwood Jr.

"Good thing we made extra chicken parmesan," Stefan said, his lips curling up as he observed Vicki intertwining her fingers with Jeremy's. "Sorry, 'Lena. I guess you'll have to make do with only three servings tonight."

Elena smothered a smile, her impatient eyes glancing back and forth between the oven and her boyfriend. "It's okay. I'll just have to help myself to some of yours."

Despite her uneasy expression, Vicki laughed. "Does this happen a lot?"

"All the time." Jeremy grinned, squeezing her hand tightly.

"Oh, by the way," Jenna said, leaning into Damon's ear and whispering in it, "I'm grabbing a drink with Logan after this. You said you wanted to tag along?"

Only because he didn't trust the douchebag. He trusted Jenna's ability to shut him up, but he sure didn't trust the tricks Scumfell had up his sleeve. Damon nodded, idly watching as Stefan and Elena set down the dishes on the table.

"Why are you giving him the time of day?"

Jenna shrugged, grabbing the pitcher and setting it on the table. "If he's crawling back to me, he has to have a good reason for it."

No reason would ever be good enough for Damon. Not when his best friend's dignity was on the line.

"Hey, are we still playing board games after dinner?" Elena asked as she took her seat at the dinner table. "I just bought this new card game that looks really fun..."

"Wish I could." Damon rose to his feet, taking his usual seat across from her. "Jenna and I promised Scumfell we'd grab a drink with him."

Stefan wrinkled his nose. "You agreed? Willingly?"

"I'm guessing you don't like this guy?" Vicki chuckled, pouring herself a glass of water.

"They like him about as much as I like Tyler." Jeremy shook his head at them fondly. "I think we'll have to pass on the card game too, 'Lena."

"Guess it's just the two of us," Stefan said, as he and Jenna placed the dishes on the table. "Maybe we can do a raincheck and play it next week?"

Elena pouted. "I guess so."

Damon could foresee a terribly long movie marathon in his future. Grad school didn't stop Elena from wandering over and commandeering the family room TV, and grad school sure didn't work as an excuse for every single Disney movie known to mankind. She had to get some kind of sick, twisted joy out of this: why else would she bother?

The rest of dinner was surprisingly pleasant. As much as Damon and Jenna hated Vicki, she made Jeremy smile. Plus, her stories about the Grille and the various tourists that drove by were kind of hilarious. After the dishes had been cleared and everything was in its proper place, Damon and Jenna gathered their things and headed out.

Just as they opened the back door, Damon could hear Jeremy and Vicki scamper upstairs. Stefan leaned in awfully close to Elena and whispered something in her ear, causing her to laugh hysterically.

"Oh god," Jenna said, turning to him with wide eyes. "We left four horny teenagers home alone."

"Correction: we left two horny teenagers home alone. Knowing Stefan and Elena, they're going to secretly marathon anime and pretend that they were making sweet love the whole time."

Stefan really needed to hide his obsessions better. That kid couldn't keep a (harmless) secret if his life depended on it! Hopefully he'd keep his magic under better wraps, but Damon kind of doubted it.

Jenna looked at him skeptically. "They like anime?"

"You don't check Elena's Netflix queue?" Damon shrugged. At least they were fooling one parental figure. "If we're lucky, they'll pick something Jeremy likes, and then we'll just have one horny teenager hanging around."

One horny teenager who could escort herself out, though knowing Stefan, he'd give her a ride back. It wasn't as if Damon hated Vicki; he just couldn't see how perfectly good people like Jeremy and Jenna just ran back into the arms of people who clearly didn't prioritize them back.

At least at this hour, the Grille was pretty lively. Groups of people were amicably chatting by the bar, while a group of teenagers – including Bonnie and Caroline – were playing pool on the far side of the room. As Damon and Jenna walked in, Scumfell waved genially at them from the bar.

"Wish me luck," Jenna said, squeezing his hand before she approached Scumfell.

Left to his own devices, Damon stuffed his hands in his pockets and wandered off towards Bonnie and Caroline. From their spot at the pool table, he could easily stalk Jenna and Scumfell without openly chaperoning them. Plus, he kind of needed Jenna to give him a ride back, considering that he'd left his car at the Gilberts'.

Caroline broke the silence first. "Since when did you hang out with us?"

Since Logan Fell decided to muck things up. Except, the minute Damon thought those words, he couldn't help groaning at the childishness of it all. He should be old enough to let bygones be bygones.

Bonnie leaned against her pool stick, watching Jenna and Scumfell out of the corner of her eyes. Her expression softened considerably as her gaze shifted between them and Damon. "You don't really like the news guy, do you?"

"You could say that again," Damon agreed, leaning against the railing as he watched them shoot another round. "How's your game going?"

"Bonnie's kicking my butt so badly," Caroline said with a small laugh. "I shouldn't be surprised. Elena always beat me without trying."

Damon smothered a laugh. For all of Caroline's OCD tendencies, pool really was the one place where she didn't succeed. After Caroline took her turn – and missed spectacularly – she offered an extra pool stick to him.

"You up for a round?" Bonnie took her shot, perfectly landing a ball into the net.

Caroline grinned. "Come on! You can't do any worse than me."

What else did he have to lose? It wasn't as if he could do work right now, since he didn't bring much with him. Damon didn't know why he bothered to show up: he could see Jenna was laughing genially at something Scumfell had said. Damn that Scumfell; he always knew how to charm the ladies long enough to get what he wanted.

Damon wasn't jealous. It wasn't envy running through his veins, because although he loved Jenna, he wasn't _in_ love with her. No, something else was ruling his train of thought, and he just wanted to get off at the next station.

Staring at the pool stick Caroline had offered him, he reluctantly accepted it and walked around the table for a good spot. "Eh."

"How's Stefan doing? He was pretty frazzled at the car wash this morning," Bonnie asked, eying the table as Damon took a shot and landed one ball into the net.

"Huh?" Damon looked up from the table. They had to be referring to the thing Stefan set on fire somehow, but the question was _what_ earned the kid's ire. Was it some poor sap's car? "What do you mean?"

"He started acting really weird after you left, Damon." Caroline aimed for the cue ball with her stick; instead, she nearly punched Damon in the stomach. Barely dodging her attack, Damon fled for the other side of the table. When that piece of information revealed absolutely nothing, Caroline then added, "So we're washing people's cars, right? Well, of course one of the football jocks has to be an ass to Stefan and make some stupid remark about how squishy he is. Tyler was gonna go all Hulk on this guy, and like, I was so afraid I'd have to intervene and—"

"Get to the point already," Damon said through gritted teeth as he watched Bonnie sink another two balls in.

Caroline sighed loudly. "Alright already! Point is, Stefan glares at this guy and then bam! The entire place is on fire for half a minute. Bonnie rushed to him, and made sure he was okay, but I've gotta say, that freaky fire was really weird. I'm just glad we didn't lose customers to it."

She… she actually bothered to check up on Stefan? Bonnie leaned forward, ostensibly to hide her face, but Damon had started to get a glimpse behind that bloodsucker's mask. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep hating her specifically.

"It was pretty weird," Bonnie said softly after a while.

Caroline glanced between Bonnie and Damon before she loudly announced, "I'm gonna get us all drinks. Be right back!"

The second she was out of hearing range, Damon said, "You didn't have to do that." No wonder Stefan had been unusually quiet; the incident must've spooked him way more than Damon realized.

"You weren't exactly around to help, Harker," Bonnie pointed out, walking around the table towards him.

"I got downgraded to Harker?" Damon grumbled, leaning forward on the table to take a shot. His cue missed, ratcheting off the corner before nearly landing in the nearest net. "I could've sworn I was at least a Van Helsing."

"You haven't needlessly killed us yet." Bonnie took her shot, watching as more balls fell neatly into the nets. "I keep wondering why you're taking your sweet time. I thought all you Salvatores hated our kind."

He couldn't very well kill Bonnie in the middle of this crowd. He could weaken her and drag her to the back of the alley, but the Grille had recently installed a security camera, "just in case those raccoons came back." It didn't take a member of animal control to know that raccoons didn't necessitate security cameras. The Grille – and by extension, the police – must've known that something else attacked Vicki. If he wanted to kill Bonnie himself, he had to do it in a way that didn't implicate himself in the process.

Plus, he couldn't exactly kill someone he was (slightly) indebted to. The second they were even - the second he stopped owing her a favor – he would follow through on his word.

"Not stupid enough to kill you now," Damon said under his breath.

"Could've fooled me," Bonnie said, leaning closer so that she could see Damon better. Ever-so-casually brushing his bangs out of his face, she smirked at him. "Let me know when you're going to give me an actual challenge, okay? I'm starting to think you're growing soft on me."

He bristled at her touch. "Excuse me?"

She smiled innocently at him, with that trademark innocence, before she took her final shot and cleared the pool table. "You know what I mean."

Just because he knew didn't mean he wanted to indulge her! Damon slammed his pool stick onto the rack and stomped off towards the exit. Stupid bloodsuckers and their especially stupid tendencies to press all of his buttons when he wasn't looking.

Jenna and Scumfell were just about to leave. The second they spotted Damon, Jenna held out her arm worriedly. "Day?"

"Whoa, buddy, you okay?" Scumfell actually sounded concerned. Damon didn't think that was humanly possible.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Damon loosened his shoulders and forced a smile. "Jen, think you can still give me a ride back?"

"Easily," said Jenna, reluctantly letting go of him. "Logan said he wanted to see some papers, so you don't have to stick around for tea."

Did Jenna suffer permanent brain damage? Amnesia, maybe? Why else would she give this jerk the time of day (and permission to enter her house)? Damon tried to hide a scowl, but even he knew the effort was in vain.

"Don't give me that look, Damon Salvatore. I know exactly what you're thinking."

"Which is?" He sighed, holding the door open for Jenna as they headed back to her car.

"That I'm making a huge mistake and you get to say I told you so." She scowled in return at him. "Which you don't, because it's not."

Sometimes, Damon swore, that girl's temper would get the absolute best of her if she weren't careful – which right now, she really wasn't. Right now, it wasn't his place, and he did have a presentation to finish. They rode back to her home in silence, letting only the radio and its scarily eerie selection of music involving bad life choices speak for him.

Before he climbed out, car keys in hand, he gave her one last pleading look.

"Don't do anything you'll regret in twenty years," he said, trying to keep his voice light as he watched Scumfell parked nearby. "Seriously. I don't think I can pick the pieces up again this time."

The hurt was clearly written on her face, but at this point, he just couldn't bring himself to give a damn anymore. Bad choices or no, _something_ felt especially off about Scumfell this time, and Damon didn't have the energy (or time) to console a twice-burned soul. Even if she was his best friend.


	8. Chapter 8

Jenna never did text him the following morning. From what Damon remembered of Jenna's flings in college, she always felt remorse over the "mistakes" she deigned to sleep with. Her guilt had almost become a routine: first she'd claim she was fine over text or phone; then, she'd buy a whole order of cheese fries; finally, she would drown herself in paperwork and junk food. The first time Scumfell had shattered her heart, Jenna buried herself in three orders of cheese fries and two pints of Ben and Jerry's before hysterically sobbing over rom-coms for three whole hours. Which, coincidentally, were also the three longest hours of Damon's and Mason's lives.

At the time, Damon had wanted to beat Scumfell senseless. He couldn't, partially because Mason had (literally) beaten him to the punch, but also partially because his life was hectic enough. His life was still far too hectic, but he could handle stupid boys far better than stupid bloodsuckers. If it weren't the weekend, Damon would have dropped by Jenna's office with lunch. Saturdays were both a curse and a blessing in that regard: while he didn't have to be at work, he was still categorizing data on his laptop.

Stefan had long since learned to steer clear of the mounds of paperwork that had taken over their library. There was method to his madness: the stacks on the left were cleared, the stack on the right was on his to-do list, and he was reading the book in the middle of his piles. Part of Damon longed to free himself from his paper shackles. He had once accidentally transfigured a finished stack into actual shackles – and while origami was fun to look at, it was a lot less fun when it was stuck around his ankles.

As he had just finished a chapter, he could hear footsteps approaching.

"Hey, Damon?" Stefan called out, carefully maneuvering past the book piles as he held two mugs of tea. "You got a moment?"

"Maybe. What's up?" Damon gently moved some papers, motioning for Stefan to take a seat across from him.

"Jeremy lost his family watch last night. I thought it might have ended up with one of us by accident, but I couldn't find it in any of my stuff."

So that's what the group text had been about! Damon had seen some messages earlier, but when he hit a groove with his data, he usually forgot the outside world existed. Now unlocking his phone, he read the messages between Jeremy and Stefan. Sure enough, Jeremy had asked about his watch, only for Stefan to confirm that it wasn't with either Salvatore.

"Yeah, I wouldn't have it," Damon said as he searched through his briefcase. "It's the one Elena supposedly couldn't find, right?"

Stefan nodded, helping himself to a piece of a baguette he'd bought. "Yeah. Jeremy said it was in his room, so I figured it couldn't be with us, but it never hurt to look." He paused, scrutinizing Damon carefully. "I saw the starter spells you gave me. One of them was a locator spell, specifically for finding lost stuff. Do you think…?"

"That we could use it to find his watch? Maybe. I don't have any personal connection with it."

Typically, for a locator spell to function, Damon had to have a frame of reference – blood for a person, but pictures tended to work as a decent substitute. Without it, location spells were just about useless.

Stefan pressed his lips together. "I think I do. Elena showed it to me before she handed it over to Jeremy, and I've got a picture on my phone."

"That might be enough." Damon set a stack of papers aside, watching as Stefan pulled out his grimoire along with the picture on his phone. "For locator spells, you have to focus on the object. Put a hand on your phone while you recite the phrase I've written out."

"But you've written out two of them. One's in Italian?"

Right. Unlike other witches, who usually preferred ancient languages that Damon could barely pronounce, he had painstakingly translated every incantation into Italian. At the time, he had told Mom he was 'embracing his family heritage,' but really Damon wanted to make his life easier. "I prefer the Italian, but the _proper_ way is the first one."

"You mean… um… _Phasmatos tri-bum… nas ex vee-ras…"_ Stefan inhaled sharply. " _Phasmatos tribum, nas ex viras sequita saguines ementas asten mihan ega petous."_

His pronunciation was scarily on point for someone who was reciting it for the first time. If Damon didn't know better, he would have sworn that Stefan had secretly practiced it in front of a bedroom mirror a dozen times. Damon blinked profusely at him, unable to hide his gaping jaw. "Um… yeah. Exactly."

Stefan tilted his head to the side, smothering an amused smile. "You couldn't get it, could you?"

Damon didn't respond, instead letting his sour expression speak for him. Stefan set his grimoire down and repeated the incantation, taking care to keep his other hand on his phone. A slight breeze fell through the library, nearly knocking Damon's stacks over, just as Stefan's hands gained a faint glow.

Stefan furrowed his brow, closing his eyes and continuing to repeat the incantation, albeit more slowly than before. "That's… strange."

"What is?" Damon's hands didn't normally glow for a simple location spell, and they sure as hell didn't cause some kind of windstorm. (Did this typically happen with budding wizards?) Everything about this spell was weirder than normal, but he sure didn't want to voice that out loud. Stefan was nervous enough about magic without Damon pointing out additional peculiarities.

Still keeping his eyes closed, Stefan said, "I'm at the cemetery. I can see Scumfell and Mrs. Forbes… um, it's in one of their hands?"

"Does Jeremy actually hang out there?"

Stefan gave his older brother a long, pointed look. "His parents _did_ die a few months ago, Damon. I don't know, maybe he visits their graves like we do with _Nonno_?"

Maybe. Damon severely doubted it, considering Elena had whined recently about all the kids that partied there the last time she had dropped off flowers at Aunt Miranda's grave. He could understand wanting some privacy, but a cemetery? That was asking for trouble.

"No, wait – it looks like they're moving." Stefan rubbed the back of his neck, breaking his concentration. "What do you think that means?"

"That the watch is with one of them. I'd let Jeremy know."

Stefan nodded, immediately firing off a reply. "You think he can reclaim it just like that?"

"He should. If it's some dumb old watch, they've got no reason to hang onto it for that long."

Though knowing Scumfell, the idiot might try to sell it on Ebay to the highest bidder. Maybe Aunt Liz would convince him otherwise. The vision wasn't exactly what Damon expected – typically, lost objects ended up in people's laundry rooms. Sure, Jeremy stashed booze bottles in strange and unexpected places, but the kid went to extraordinary lengths for Damon's sake. He wouldn't extend that same effort to his father's old watch.

History had a troublesome hold on practically everyone in this town, nearly choking everyone on old traditions that rarely amounted to anything in the present. If there was some larger reason for that watch to exist, Damon wasn't sure he wanted to know it. Judging from Stefan's worried expression, his kid brother didn't fully accept that explanation either.

The doorbell rang, nearly causing Damon to jump out of his seat.

Stefan laughed sheepishly. "Sorry, I should've – Matt's here. I promised him I'd help with a paper."

Made sense. Only Elena could match Stefan word-for-word in English classes. From what Damon had gathered, the rest tended to flounder around before they bugged Stefan or Elena for some guidance. Damon was the same way once, before grad school had forced him to master the language of psychology through constant paper-writing.

Damon motioned for Stefan to leave, though he couldn't quite hide the smile on his face.

Just before Stefan headed out, he turned to face Damon. "Hey, Day? Thanks. That was pretty awesome."

"It's nothing," Damon said absentmindedly, already highlighting a passage in a journal article.

"I don't know. I'd say it's something."

Learning a new spell? Not really – Stefan needed an extra ounce of confidence more than his big brother's help. With a bit of time, Damon was more than confident that the kid would easily outclass him. He watched Matt and Stefan as they scampered upstairs, talking about the big game and girls, before returning back to his work. If only data sets were as simple as a locator spell.

 

 

 

 

 

Studying at home was all fine and good, but sometimes, Damon needed to stretch his legs and surround himself with other people. How Stefan preferred the silence, Damon would never quite know. He needed the hustle and bustle of other people. Damon craved the sounds of their voices as he hunched over his laptop, searching for the perfect analogy for his presentation. Thankfully, unlike the disaster last year with Misao, he was working alone.

In-between cups of strong coffee, he'd occasionally eavesdrop on interesting conversations. This being Mystic Falls, they never amounted to much. People gossiped way too frequently about each other, except for that awkward time Damon mistook a TV show for some poor girl's life. (How was he supposed to know that she didn't _actually_ have a psycho serial killer after her?)

Just as he bought another mug, he could see Vicki and Anna at the next booth over. Anna was swirling some ridiculously sweet cream drink, listening intently to every word Vicki had to say. Anna had to have some hidden agenda; else, why would she bother making friends in this kind of place? Mystic Falls wasn't exactly the most exciting city in the state, let alone the country.

"I am so over Tyler. I knew from the beginning that I was only a piece of ass to him, but I thought maybe if he got to know me better, he might see something more, right?" Vicki was saying, in-between gulps of her drink. Unusually for her, her entire face was a mess, with her mascara running down her face as she nearly snapped her coffee stirrer in half.

Anna leaned forward, gently wiping the tears off the other girl's face with napkins. Once she was satisfied, she rose to her feet, presumably to grab a refill and more napkins. "What about Jeremy? Elena's brother, right?"

"Yeah. Elena used to date my brother, and they were always together, so Jeremy would always be hanging around and crushing on me and…" Vicki paused, staring at Anna more carefully. "Why don't you have a boyfriend? You're super chill. Any guy would be lucky to have you."

Was Vicki drunk? At this hour of the day? God, she was taking after her mother early. (No wonder Matt seemed so stressed out all the time.)

Damon could've sworn he saw Anna blush as she ordered another cup. "I don't know. I guess it just hasn't happened yet."

"Don't you want to be in love?"

Anna turned on her heels, avoiding Vicki's piercing gaze. "I've been in love before. It… it was kind of overrated."

"Except when it isn't," Vicki said helpfully, sucking up the last bits of her coffee – and then some of Anna's painfully red drink. "Hey, yours is good too."

Anna shot her a confused look (wait, did Vicki just drink…? _Gross._ ) "Um, thanks?"

"My mom spends most of her time in Virginia beach with Pete. He drives trucks. I don't remember my dad, but from what I gather, he's not worth remembering."

Damon barely remembered Matt's and Vicki's dad, but even he knew that wasn't an inaccurate assessment of the scumbag. He remembered Kelly's frantic calls to Mom, and how Mom had just given her homemade biscotti and hidden the booze until Mrs. Donovan could get back on her feet. For as long as he could remember, Mom's kindness had been extraordinary and far, far beyond an ordinary person's.

Anna winced sympathetically. "That really sucks."

"I know. I mean, I'm the screwed-up one. Matt's got it so easy. He's the golden boy. I mean, he's gonna get a football scholarship and marry Elena and have a lawn mower and some babies, and when I think of my future, I just come up blank."

"You do?" Now Anna's sympathy had given way to utter confusion. "How come?"

"I'm too damaged, Anna."

(Not according to Jeremy! Maybe Vicki should listen to him praise her over the moon some more. God knows Damon was this close to lobbing the kid with a silencing spell – or a hundred of them.)

"Your self-esteem is awfully high, you know," Anna remarked, handing over another cup of coffee.

"Tell me about it."

Anna shook her head remorsefully. Just as she grabbed her purse and turned to leave, waiting for Vicki to follow her, she said carefully, "I think I know what can help you."

"Yeah? What's that?"

Crap, they were leaving! Damon reached for a pen and immediately started jotting notes down for his presentation. As they walked past him, Anna whispered in Vicki's ear, "I'll tell you later. No use in worrying Harker here."

"Harker?" Vicki shot her a confused glance as she followed Anna outside. "We don't have any Harkers in this town."

"Ugh, nevermind. You'll figure out what I mean soon enough."

Now Damon looked up from his scribbles and stared blankly at their retreating figures. What? The hell was their problem? He wasn't exactly trying to eavesdrop here! It wasn't his fault they were (slightly) more interesting than his paper on differently-abled people, and it sure wasn't his fault that they had picked the booth right next to him.

Still, Anna had promised Vicki an out. Knowing a thirsty bloodsucker like her, that couldn't possibly mean anything good. Damon stared down at his illegible scribbles and sighed, running a hand through his hair. Next time, he should've written down something that made _sense._

"Hard at work?"

He would have known that voice anywhere. Damon looked up and gave a non-committal shrug at his Aunt Liz. "Kind of. I've got a big presentation coming up."

"I won't keep you too long, then." Aunt Liz smiled softly, though she kept her hands dangerously close to her holster. For as long as Damon had known her – which was kind of his whole life – she lived and breathed her work. Even now, as she grabbed some coffee to-go, she was still dressed in her uniform.

"What happened?" He gestured towards the door, where a news van was waiting alongside her car. "Something bigger than the raccoons?"

Aunt Liz pressed her lips together, very carefully avoiding Damon's line of sight. "Kind of. A drug deal went wrong last night, but we're still piecing the details together. I can't reveal more than that."

Drug deal…? Jeremy was home last night. Damon was almost certain of it. If something that terrible had happened, Elena would have called in the morning, hysterically crying to Stefan about how unfair life was and how she should just dye her hair black and join the goth kids in protest. (Wasn't she already an activist?) Neither Jenna nor Elena had called, so something larger had to have unfurled.

Something that might have involved Bonnie or Anna, maybe?

His confusion must've been obvious, because he could feel Aunt Liz's careful touch on his shoulder. "It's okay, Damon. I've got it under control."

The front door of the coffee shop swung open to allow a few more customers in. Among them was Scumfell, neatly dressed in his usual suit and tie. Damon could see him holding something in his hand – something small – before he curled his hands around it, preventing Damon from sneaking a closer look. "Sheriff Forbes? If I could have a word?"

Aunt Liz rose to her feet, grabbing her coffee. "Of course, Logan. You still need an interview for tonight?"

Huh? Aunt Liz never really deigned for interviews; just confirmations of various events that happened around town. Animal control had never exactly been her specialty, but she sure loved to confirm or deny the existence of their massive raccoon population. When people were concerned, sometimes she shied away from the spotlight.

Between Stefan's odd spellcasting, Anna's newfound friendship with Vicki, and Aunt Liz's interest in the spotlight, Damon was almost convinced he had sent himself into some alternate dimension where everything was topsy-turvy. Almost, because he could see her face harden into an unreadable mask. Maybe the interview was a cover, for something she wanted to discuss alone with Scumfell. Damon could understand that.

"I'll see you later," Damon said, mostly as a courtesy.

Aunt Liz tipped her head in his direction before she turned to leave. "Good luck on your presentation!"

It wasn't until Scumfell turned to leave that Damon noticed Jeremy's watch resting squarely in the bastard's palm. Whatever he had told Stefan previously was wrong: that watch was important, and Damon would have to get his hands dirty if he wanted it back.

Most people questioned how Damon worked in the midst of activity. Usually, he would answer that he loved the hustle and bustle and the energy that radiated from everyone, but at this moment, he just wanted the secrecy to stop. Whatever Aunt Liz and Scumfell were involved in, he was certain it had to do with Anna's end goal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rest of the afternoon had mostly been a bust. After some unfruitful paragraphs – and one long session of mindless Internet browsing – Damon had gathered up his belongings and returned to the Manor. Stefan would undoubtedly distract him with magic questions, but even those couldn't compare to the confusion the day had brought him.

Just as he had settled down with his laptop, the doorbell rang.

Damon ran to answer it, side-stepping as Jeremy rushed inside with a very wobbly Vicki. "I am so sorry," Jeremy was saying hurriedly, "But Elena would _kill_ me if I brought her back, and I don't… I don't know what…"

So now Damon was the one who bailed Jeremy out of his troubles? Great: he had officially been promoted from cool older brother to annoying parent.

"Could you keep it down?" Vicki was asking as she slumped on the couch. She winced, curling herself up in a ball and wrapping herself around one of the numerous blankets Stefan had left lying around. "My head hurts."

Damon shot Jeremy a questioning look, only for Jeremy to toss his arms in the air. "I have no idea! I swear to God, Damon, I don't know what she's on, but I've never seen her this high before."

"You ever considered a hospital?" Damon folded his arms, turning around to grab a water bottle from the kitchen. "I know she doesn't have insurance, but…" A hospital sure would provide more help than whatever magic Damon could offer this girl.

Just then, Stefan and Matt bounded downstairs. The second Matt recognized his sister on the couch, he rushed to her side.

"Vick? Vick, how you doing?"

"Not good, Mattie… it hurts." Vicki refused to unfurl the covers, instead lying amongst the blankets and pillows.

Damon knew his cue to leave, so he headed for the kitchen for some water and pre-synthesized elixirs. Whatever her symptoms were, a potion would keep some of the side-effects at bay. As he was gathering everything, he could still hear the concern from the boys.

"Where does it hurt?" Matt was saying, undoubtedly leaning forward to see her better.

"My gums. My jaw hurts. My gum-there's something in my gums, and it hurts."

"Okay, well…"

He must have tried to pull the covers away, because Vicki screeched, "No! Don't! Leave me alone!"

"Come on, Vick," Matt was pleading, undoubtedly flanked by both Stefan and Jeremy, "Let's go home. It's gonna be okay."

"Just turn it off!"

Stefan's confusion was clear as day as he said, "Turn what off?"

"The talking! The chatter, just… turn it off."

She must have been referring to the TV in the den. Damon could've sworn he put it on mute; after he headed back with water for Vicki and some cream for her gums, he watched Jeremy reach for the remote. Vicki warily stared at the bottle of water before gulping it down in one swift motion. Ditto for the elixir, though she had to say, "It tastes bitter."

Gee, what was she expecting? Something sweet like cake? Fruit juice would've only diluted its effects.

"Huh," Jeremy whistled softly. "It's barely audible."

Matt folded his arms as Jeremy turned up the volume loud enough for the broadcast to say, "Three bodies were found dead in what is believed to be a drug deal gone awry. The bodies have yet to be identified. They were discovered earlier today over at the old Mystic Falls cemetery."

Stefan involuntarily winced, giving Damon a knowing look. Wait, wasn't the old cemetery the same one where Stefan had located Jeremy's watch?

Jeremy's face lost all of its color. "We were there last night, me and Vick."

"What happened?" Stefan pressed his lips together. "You left me and Elena and headed over there and then…"

The broadcast continued, "Police are under way looking for suspects. They're asking anyone with information..."

Matt reached for the phone. "I'm calling the cops."

"Don't!" Vicki unfurled the covers, nearly smacking her brother in the face. Jeremy lunged forward, holding her down.

"What happened after I left last night, Vick?" Jeremy was saying in hushed tones, his entire body shaking as he held her with his entire might. "What the hell happened after you told me to head home?"

Vicki broke free from his grip, shoving Stefan to the side.

"Whoa, Stef!" Matt held his friend steady, even as his gaze never left Vicki's retreating shadow. "You okay?"

Stefan forced himself to stand on his own two feet. Jeremy didn't wait for either of them, running furiously after Vicki. Still wobbling slightly, Stefan smiled faintly at Matt. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good."

Matt frowned, carefully hovering over Stefan in case he fell again. "Damn, Vick."

Damon didn't quite know what else to do, so he rushed after Jeremy and Vicki, mentally calculating the energy he'd need for a restraining spell. The tree branches would be long enough to hold her down, assuming she didn't break them….

He was so intent on seizing Vicki's arm that he barely noticed Elena and Bonnie approaching his front door.

Bonnie grabbed Vicki by the shoulders, intently staring straight into her eyes. "Vicki?"

Elena glanced between Bonnie, Jeremy, and Damon, before she stepped back and held out her arms. "Okay, what just happened here?"

"She's really messed up," Jeremy explained, stopping to catch his breath. "I swear, I don't know what she's on, and I had nothing to do with it."

"Step back, Elena." Bonnie inhaled sharply, keeping her gaze on Vicki as she took a step closer. Elena immediately obeyed, running into her boyfriend's arms and holding him tightly. Without another word, Stefan ushered her in.

Without even flinching, Bonnie said, "Vicki, look at me…. Okay, focus. You're gonna be fine. Everything'll be alright. I promise."

Damon could see the hitched breath that escaped Vicki's lips, along with the slight way her eyes changed in Bonnie's presence. Damn, that Jedi mind control trick actually came in handy once in a blue moon. He had planned on restraining her the hard way, and part of him wished he had. Mind control, regardless of the intentions, never ended well for everyone.

Vicki's shoulders sagged in relief. The second the girl's guard was lowered, Bonnie gently moved Vicki towards the front door.

Damon walked beside her, allowing Matt to scoop her up in his arms and walk towards the staircase.

Bonnie continued, "Guys, take her up to bed and shut the blinds. She just needs some sleep."

Matt didn't wait for her to finish her sentence; he and Jeremy immediately rushed to the nearest bedroom and nearly slammed the door shut behind them. He could hear Elena heading to the kitchen and calling, "I'll make everyone some tea!"

To which Jeremy called, "Not the time, 'Lena!" (To be fair, there never _was_ a proper time for Elena's frou-frou blends.)

"Well?" Bonnie said, folding her arms as she looked up at Damon. "Aren't you going to…?"

"No." Damon leaned forward, noticing for the first time how his gunblade necklace fell across her Lapis Lazuli gem. If he weren't careful, it could've scratched the surface of that gem. "I have no reason to let you in."

Even he recognized his childish behavior. Something weird was happening with Vicki – she must've taken one hell of a drug – and despite vampires' natural tendency to eat anyone in sight, Bonnie had restrained herself. She'd restrained herself so well, in fact, that Damon would've still mistaken her for any other teenage girl.

"How come?" Stefan asked, stepping beside Damon to look at Bonnie better. "Can't you come in, even if he doesn't let you?"

Bonnie shot Damon a questioning look. "You mean you haven't told him?"

"Told me what, exactly?" Stefan stuffed his hands in his pockets, though he had scrunched up his face in concentration, mulling over something or another.

Bonnie smirked, shaking her head softly at Damon. "I can't believe you haven't! Isn't it the first lesson of Wizarding 101?"

Stefan's face grew pale. "D-Damon, how come she knows…?"

Damon instinctively reached for Stefan's other hand and held his wrist tightly. "Because she's part of that world."

Stefan's gaze lingered on Bonnie for a few more seconds than necessary, scrutinizing every single detail of her as if to permanently etch it in his memory. Damon was always the less calculated of the two; usually, he just charged in and casted spells like the world was about to end. Stefan, on the other hand, preferred to have a plan up his sleeve. Maybe next time, Damon should've just dumped the entire world on him, rather than slowly parroting to him in manageable chunks.

"But she's not a wizard," Stefan said after a moment. "You're kind of something else altogether."

Bonnie clapped mockingly, though her smirk betrayed her intentions easily enough. "Bingo. You want to keep guessing as to what I am, or should I—"

Damon twitched, clinging to his brother's wrist far tighter than he needed to. "She's a _vampire_ , Stef. A bloodsucking, thirsty mongrel who doesn't know when to take a hint."

Stefan squinted at her. "You are? But you don't really sparkle."

Someone had been reading far too many trashy YA novels to immediately jump to that conclusion. Plus, Bonnie didn't exactly _sparkle_ , she kind of glowed in this radiant way that almost – almost! – reminded Damon of Sheena. At least, not when Bonnie was mind controlling people or insisting that she was some kind of hippie.

Bonnie blinked back confusion. "Um, thank you…?"

"The vampires in Elena's favorite book sparkle," Stefan offered, wincing slightly. "Sorry, I just can't believe you're one of them. You're probably less powerful in the daylight? Like in Dracula?"

Instinctively, Bonnie reached for her necklace. "Nope, same level of power."

Okay, so his brother had just jumped from one end of the vampire spectrum to the absolute opposite. Was Stefan secretly well-versed in fictional supernatural creatures, or did Damon's "super trashy" reading habits actually rub off on this kid? Stefan, for the most part, looked slightly disappointed.

"Damn, Stoker lied to us." Stefan motioned towards the door, stepping to the side to give Bonnie room to maneuver. "Day, about Vicki…."

"I'm still not letting her in." Damon shook his head. "I don't care if she says she drinks animal blood or if she helped us sedate Vicki. You never know her true intentions."

"Because…?" Stefan gestured towards Bonnie. "Because she's got supernatural powers like us? I don't know, that kind of makes us hypocrites."

Where was the respect for his older brother's instincts? Goddammit, Stefan, sometimes Damon had a reason to his madness, and sometimes that reason kept innocent lives alive. Dad wouldn't let vampires in; Mom wouldn't let vampires in; and Damon sure as hell wasn't going to buck that trend. If Stefan wanted to play nice with a bloodsucker, maybe he should wait until he moved out. Damon would have run his palm down his face, if Bonnie weren't so busy giggling (and desperately trying to hide it).

"I know when I'm not wanted, Stefan," she said, hiding her laughter behind a curled up hand. "Though you two need to be careful. Vicki's transitioning."

"Transitioning…?"

Although Stefan couldn't hide his confusion, Damon could feel his heart rate spiking dangerously. He should have seen the warning signs – how she wanted 'quiet,' how she could hear the inaudible TV – and recognized them for what they were instead of the state's craziest drug. He had misjudged her way too quickly.

"Into a vampire," Damon whispered, finally letting go of his brother and turning on his heels. "She's turning into one of you."

"How?" Stefan always asked the hard-hitting questions. "If Damon's right, and you're one of those vegetarian vampires, you wouldn't have bit her."

"It must've been Anna," Bonnie admitted, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "If there's more of us in town, I wouldn't know."

"You're not in the least bit concerned?" Damon narrowed his eyes.

He couldn't unravel this girl. For every good deed she performed, she callously regarded a transition as a fact of life. Vampirism was a terrible, terrible curse. If Vicki truly were turning into one of them, they should mercy kill her with a stake and kill her so swiftly that she would die painlessly. Why would he just prolong the inevitable?

Bonnie regarded him squarely in the eye. "It's not the end of the world, Salvatore."

"Except it kind of is. Immortal life at the cost of sucking everyone's veins dry?"

Stefan was unusually quiet for a second, before he asked, "Has a vampire ever gotten malaria or HIV or anything similar? I mean, if they suck people's blood, and their victims' blood's diseased…."

Damon awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, while Bonnie just stared blankly at Stefan. For a few seconds, none of them spoke.

"Nevermind," Stefan mumbled to himself. (Man, the Augustine Society would have _loved_ Stefan's instinct to understand the science behind anything remotely supernatural.) "Vicki's more important. What does she need to do to complete her… um, transition?"

"She needs to feed on human blood," Bonnie said, finally regaining her composure. "Otherwise, she'll die in a few hours." Pointedly, she glanced at Damon, her expression saying what her voice refused to.

Did Damon prefer her human death to the mayhem and destruction that vampire Vicki would unleash upon the world? Of course. In death, she would find some kind of peace.

"B-but she's up with the guys right now." Stefan involuntarily looked upstairs towards the guest room that Jeremy, Matt, and Elena had carefully laid her in.

"She doesn't remember, I'm guessing," Bonnie said, trying to sound reassuring as she followed his gaze.

"So when is she going to know?" Damon was this close to just grabbing Vicki and taking her back to the Donovans. His home wasn't some halfway stop for supernatural creatures, especially ones that could bite Jeremy's skinny neck at any moment.

"A few hours, give or take. Once she realizes what's really happening, then she'll make her choice."

Damon rolled his eyes. A choice, right. A sadistic choice that would zap her of all the humanity she possessed. "You're not going to force-feed her?"

Bonnie snorted. "Kind of hard to, if you won't let me in."

Quickly, Stefan jumped in-between them. "Point is, as long as she gets the blood, she'll be fine?"

In the background, behind Bonnie, Damon could've sworn he saw a shadow move. He blinked, rubbing his eyes and – oh, yep, that was definitely a person moving. Bonnie must have seen it too, because she stepped back and motioned for them to follow her. "I think that was—"

"Sure looked like it," Stefan commented, heading back inside to grab the car keys.

"We can't keep up with her." Damon didn't have his keys on him either, and at the rate Vicki was moving, she would be long gone by the time they caught up.

Bonnie sighed at him, in the most absurd way she possibly could. "I can track her down. Keep up, Salvatore."

She tossed her purse into his arms, nearly staggering him, before sprinting in Vicki's direction. Damon almost choked on the pile of dust she'd left in her wake.

"Don't say it," he told Stefan as his kid brother re-emerged with a set of car keys and the rest of his motley crew. Coughing in his elbow to prevent more dust from falling in his eyes, Damon refused to look them straight in the eye. "Don't you _dare_ —"

Stefan laughed, casually unlocking the car as he waltzed in front of Damon. "I don't know, Day. Maybe we should've let her in after all."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: I rely on the tie-in comics for additional canon (esp. regarding Mason Lockwood), so bear with me if something seems off from them! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this.

Bonnie had texted Stefan with one sentence: _she's at the old cemetery._

What was it with supernatural creatures and their affinity for the macabre? Damon would've chosen somewhere less gothic: considering her circumstances, even her house would've sufficed. He wouldn't suffer amongst the dead, if he was no longer one of them. The irony, even for him, was a little much.

The second Stefan read the text out loud, Jeremy bravely puffed out his chest and declared, "I'm coming with you."

"Oh no you're _not_ ," Elena insisted, tugging hard on her brother's arm and pulling him back towards her car. "You've had enough adventure for one night, baby bro."

("I'm only a year younger!" Jeremy protested, to everyone's chagrin, as he pulled against her grip. "Come on, guys! I'm not five years old anymore!")

To Stefan, Elena mouthed 'IOU?' before strapping Jeremy down into the passenger seat. Damon firmly pressed against the kid's arms, holding him down as the kid squirmed, twisting and turning into the leather with every second.

"It's for your own good," Bonnie echoed, though her piercing gaze missed – and instead, Matt's eyes glossed over as he headed towards Elena.

"Yeah, it's for our own good," Matt agreed, climbing into the back seat. "'Lena, mind giving me a ride home?"

Elena blinked back confusion, folding her arms as she silently looked at Matt and then at Bonnie before she closed her mouth shut. Damon couldn't blame her: merely seconds ago, Matt had been clamoring to chase his sister himself. Bonnie's Jedi trick sorely needed some minor adjustments if it worked on everyone except her intended target.

"Um, sure," Elena finally said, sliding into the driver's seat and revving up the engine. "Stefan, text me later?"

"Easily." Once Elena's car was out of sight, Stefan tossed the car keys to Damon.

Their car couldn't match a bloodsucker's speed – at least, not while obeying traffic laws. Damon ignored every single one of them, pressing as hard on the acceleration as possible. Stefan clung desperately to the side of his seat, clenching his teeth and bracing himself for impact. "What is _wrong_ with you, Damon?"

Maybe he wanted to reach the cemetery before Vicki munched on some stoners. Had that thought ever popped into his brother's brain? Damon gripped the steering wheel tightly, releasing it only when he had parked haphazardly near the curb. If the police gave him a ticket, fine. At least he was trying to save some girl's life (or what remained of it).

Stefan hopped out as soon as the doors were unlocked, running off towards the center of the cemetery. Damon followed him at a brisk pace, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of his least-favorite bloodsucker. Usually, bloodsuckers moved too damn fast. Sure, Damon was in shape: between his soccer matches and charity runs, he could run without breaking a sweat. He was no Mason Lockwood, but Damon wasn't trying to compete with his beast of a friend. Bonnie - and now Vicki - were in their own league. With every pounding step against that dirt road, Damon could feel his calves ache. After a few minutes, Stefan nearly collapsed onto the road, leaning on his knees for comfort as he stopped to catch his breath.

"Just leave me behind," Stefan had wheezed, his breaths growing shallower by the second. "I'll get there sooner or later."

If Vicki weren't a fledgling vampire, Damon would've scooped his brother into his arms and kept running. As it was, they'd already lost time. Before he could argue, Bonnie emerged from the side of the road. She sighed at Stefan, then seized Damon's arm and shoved him forwards.

"Keep your eye out for anyone suspicious," Damon called, unsuccessfully wrestling with Bonnie's iron grip. While Stefan's magic couldn't fend off a vampire, Stefan could distract one with a well-timed spontaneous combustion. The kid could hold his own, even if he wasn't the most physically gifted.

Stefan, in-between breaths, gave his brother a disgruntled look. "We fall under that category, but sure."

Once Damon and Bonnie fell out of Stefan's hearing range, she grumbled, "I was able to explain everything to Vicki, but then I heard your friend the newscaster is here. I don't know how, and I don't know _why_ …"

"But I'm guessing Vicki has something to do with it."

Bonnie nodded grimly. Damon bit on his lower lip, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Stomping leaves aside, he snuck a glance at the bloodsucker beside him. If he didn't know that she had just sprinted to the other side of town, he would have never guessed that she had ran that entire distance. Her dark hair was still perfectly curled; her lipstick hadn't smeared; and she was still confusedly looking at him behind those thick lashes. Compared to her, he must've been one hot mess.

"Why are you still here?" The words tumbled from his lips faster than he could stop them.

"Well, why are _you_?"

"Don't answer my question with another question." Damon brusquely stepped aside, listening carefully for other voices, crunched leaves, crumbled stones, or anything that would indicate a person's presence. Save for their own footsteps, the woods were eerily quiet tonight – not even the crickets were chirping.

Bonnie smothered a laugh. "That's rich, coming from the boy who thinks he has to protect everyone."

"Excuse me?" Damon stopped in his tracks, watching as Bonnie continued without him. "Not my fault she had to go and get herself bitten."

"Doesn't mean you have to be the one that saves her."

Stupid Bennett Bloodsucker logic. Damon reluctantly walked towards her, completely ignoring how she all but stopped for him. "I didn't ask you to help me."

"You don't like how we're on the same side, huh?"

Damon gritted his teeth. "We're not on the same side. We just happen to have the same damn goal. Where did you say Scumfell was?"

Bonnie vaguely gestured towards the west, keeping her steps brisk as she led him past another row of graves. Taking care not to step over anything, Damon followed her. The last time he had visited the cemetery, he had laid flowers on Uncle Grayson's grave, promising that he wouldn't let his mentor's research end in vain. Damon was no doctor; he couldn't heal people through prescriptions or kind words. The best he had were his elixirs and spells, and even those couldn't delay the inevitable. Stefan had wanted to follow in Uncle Grayson's footsteps, devouring medical textbooks whole when he wasn't reading "higher literature." No wonder Stefan had asked if vampires caught disease, if he was unconsciously echoing their mentor.

Damon's throat tightened as he pressed on, taking care to avoid his mentor's grave. "Is Anna with him?"

"Not sure. I only heard his voice." She paused. "The Fells were a Founding Family too. Is there some ancient rivalry between you and…"

Damon snorted. "Like I care about that. I just happen to hate racist assholes."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow at him. "Big words coming from another white boy."

"Another white boy who studied sociology," Damon corrected, wrinkling his nose at her. So maybe he still had a lot to learn, and he wasn't the most politically correct person around, but dammit, he wasn't oblivious like Scumfell. College had opened his eyes to the world - a much larger one that lied beyond Mystic Falls and its homogeneity. The less he resembled that idiot, the better. "So Scumfell and Vicki. Great. Just the two people I wanted to see tonight."

Bonnie halted, holding her arm out to prevent him from moving forward. "Sssh," she said. "I can hear them."

Too bad he couldn't. Damon frowned, squinting at the darkness ahead of them. "What're they saying?"

"Something about…" She tensed. "We've gotta hurry."

Damon internally groaned. Not another run! He couldn't match her pace – nor would he want to – and his muscles already hated him. Adding additional pressure would increase his (already long) recovery time. Bonnie sprinted ahead, forcing him to hasten his pace to see her in the distance.

Just in case, he held his hand up and whispered, " _Luce_." An orb of pure light formed from his palm, illuminating the clearing before him. The grassy area was mostly clear, save for two people near the edge. As Damon held the light up, he could see Logan sneering above Vicki, with a small handgun pressed firmly against her chest.

"So it was you," Logan was saying in his broadcaster voice to an imaginary audience, "You were the vamp killing those people in the woods."

"She did no such thing, idiot."

Logan turned, his eyes widening as he noticed Damon and the glowing orb of light in his hands. "Wh-what the hell? Salvatore?"

Vicki broke from Logan's grasp, shoving him against the nearest tree as she scrambled towards Bonnie. Still catching her breath, she protectively folded her arms across her chest. Without missing a beat, Damon threw the ball of light at Logan; it dispersed into a shower of light, throwing Logan squarely on his backside as he stared up at the remaining sparks.

"I could ask you the same question," Damon said lightly, forming another ball with the palm of his hand. "Aren't you a little old to be creeping on teenage girls?"

Logan sneered, holding his hand up to shield himself from the light. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not dumping her for Donovan Jr., if that's what you're implying."

Bonnie stared at them in disgust. "Could you two stop your pissing contest for _one_ moment?"

"For what? Salvatore to protect some vamp?" Logan said, now scrutinizing Damon. "I should've known you were in league with them."

"Ew, no." Damon formed yet another ball, watching as Logan instinctively shrunk back from him. "You've got the wrong girl." Er, wrong bloodsucker. But considering the watch in Logan's hand, Damon had to tread lightly. One wrong move, and Vicki would die from Logan's new baby gun.

"How so? This watch points to vampires," Logan said smugly, nearly tossing it into the air, "It works just fine, 'cause it's pointing to Vicki and…" He paused. "Vicki and your friend."

He aimed squarely at Bonnie and pulled on the trigger. Instead of the metal bullets Damon were so used to, little wooden stakes flew through the air towards them. Damon held his arm out, " _Guardian!"_

No protective forcefield could contain wooden bullets that fast. Bonnie sidestepped, yet the bullet was faster. Hitting the back of her calve, Bonnie screeched, falling to her feet.

"Stop protecting them!" Logan hissed, though his widened eyes said what his cautious body language wouldn't. For the first time since they'd met, Damon truly frightened him. Funny how it only took seven years or so for the tables to turn. "They've done nothing for us! Don't you know how many people've died, because of them?"

Besides Coach Tanner, who was already kind of a douche? Damon inched closer and closer, holding up his hands. "One?" Damon ventured to guess. "Vicki was bitten by a raccoon, and she was the last animal attack the town saw."

(He could hear Vicki scoff, "Yeah right. Like a raccoon could be that painful," before Bonnie elbowed her. Hard.)

Logan hesitated. "One more death than we needed. If we let them be, they'll kill us all. Don't you want to prevent that?"

"Can't prevent something that won't happen." Damon grimaced. The last time bloodsuckers had wandered into town, Dad and Aunt Sheila had protected everyone from harm. Now that Damon was of age, the responsibility squarely fell on his shoulders – and if Logan kept up his reckless attitude, he'd start another turf war. The idiot was the one preemptively attacking Vicki! For God's sake, her life had been one giant joke before the supernatural decided to intervene.

"Yeah? Mind telling Coach that?"

Damon's stomach twisted into knots, as his breathing involuntarily became shorter and shorter – for a millisecond, Fell's face morphed into the unmistakable features of Coach Tanner, before Vicki broke the silence with cautious steps forward.

Damon seized the moment and tackled Logan, pressing firmly on his old enemy as he tossed the gun aside. More wooden bullets shot the nearest tree.

"Don't you dare," Damon hissed, half-tempted to melt the gun then and there. "You think I'm on their side, Logan? Huh?"

Fear crossed Logan's eyes, as his body went unnaturally limp. Damon could hear his heartbeat racing faster and faster, until Logan managed to say, "Wh-what are you—"

"Relax. I'm not planning on killing you."

Logan then rolled over, reaching over and squeezing Damon's neck. "You always _were_ a pansy, Salvatore."

Vicki aimed a punch squarely at Logan's head. He jerked forward, loosening his grip long enough for Damon to pry himself off the now unconscious newscaster. As Logan limply now lay in his arm, Damon looked up at Vicki.

There was a gleam in her eye – triumph? – as she inspected her handiwork. She was taller than Damon remembered, or maybe she had stopped slouching altogether.

"Nice job," Damon said, because she had voluntarily saved him from untimely suffocation. Except – wait – there was definitely blood dripping from the crown of the poor guy's head. Damon tensed as she approached him. "That your first time?"

"Just the first time it worked." Her lips curled upward in a slight smirk as she reached for Logan. Her veins started pulsing, her face contorting as she inhaled sharply.

Damon held his hand out protectively as Bonnie pulled the stake out of the back of her calve and limped forward. She said, "So you have a choice now, Vicki. You can go ahead and eat some of his blood, or you don't transition."

Vicki stared down glumly at Logan – at the nape of his neck – before she asked, "Not much of a choice, is there?"

Not if she wanted some shadow of an existence, an "unlife" that Damon wouldn't have wished on anyone else. Damon was going to regret this in the morning, just like every other life choice he had made since Bonnie arrived, and yet…

He lightly pressed his hand to the new wound on Logan's neck. " _Guarigione_ _."_

The wound sealed itself, leaving only traces of blood on Damon's fingers as he carefully laid Logan against the nearby tree. Bonnie regarded him coolly as he let go of Logan, her hardened eyes and defiant chin saying what her voice refused to.

Vicki stared blankly at Logan. "I thought you hated him."

"I do." Damon's gaze didn't leave Logan as he rose to his feet unceremoniously, turning back to where he had left Stefan. "Doesn't mean I want him dead."

Mom would've been proud. The thought stung, because he had thought about killing this man how many times now? He had the perfect opportunity at his feet, with a new bloodsucker who needed someone's blood to finish the transition… and it still wasn't enough. Even death by bloodsucker wouldn't have sufficed for this asshole, because Damon would've indirectly allowed it to happen.

"I don't want Vicki dead either," Stefan's voice called as he rushed towards them. "I was thinking, while you put me on guard duty… what if bloodsuckers aren't that bad, Day?"

If bloodsuckers were good, decent people, then they wouldn't be staring at an unconscious Logan Fell, and Damon wouldn't have healed his worst enemy. Damon wanted to yell until his face was blue, to impulsively lash out at Stefan for even saying something so senseless, because that was the stupidest statement he had heard this entire month.

Vicki shrunk back. "You don't have to call me that."

"I'm not. You don't deserve to die because some _idiot_ decided to turn you." Stefan pulled out his car keys and lightly nicked the vein in his wrist, steadily holding it up to Vicki's mouth.

Before Vicki could protest, her eyes had already turned black as she involuntarily bit his wrist and slowly sucked in the blood, her veins pulsing with each additional sip.

Damon lunged forward. "Stefan Giuseppe Salvatore!" He focused on Vicki, on the brain vessels squarely lodged up in that dense head of hers, and watched as she writhed away from Stefan. As she screeched, Damon pulled Stefan into his arms.

Stefan grimaced. "What were you thinking?"

"That's my line." Damon glared at him. "You let her _feed_ on you?"

"She has enough for the transition. I can take it from here, Harker." Bonnie interrupted, before they accidentally started another brawl on some soul's grave. To Stefan, she gave him a bow of acknowledgement. "Stefan, thank you."

"It's nothing." Still, Stefan winced as he stared down at his arm and involuntarily reached for tissues in his left pocket. "I swear, I _thought_ vampires' saliva had some kind of anesthetic in them."

Despite the absurdity of it all, Damon couldn't help laughing. " _That_ was your biggest concern?"

"Well, yeah." Stefan rolled his eyes, watching as Bonnie and Vicki headed in the opposite direction – undoubtedly back to Bonnie's house, where she could give Vicki the big speech on how to be a vegetarian vampire. "Mosquitos have it. Fleas have it. Freaking _bedbugs_ have it. Why the hell don't vampires?"

"That is a good question I don't have the answer to." Damon pushed Stefan forward, allowing his kid brother to lean on him for support as they walked back to the car. "Have you ever considered maybe _not_ using yourself as an experiment? I might be able to worry less about you, baby bro."

"Aw, you worry?" Stefan teased, letting his wrist hang limply as he pinched Damon's cheek with his free hand. "Here I thought you didn't care, _gattino._ "

Damon nearly swatted at him, only pulling his hand back at the last minute because his kid brother was the injured party here. Out of respect – more for Aunt Liz than Scumfell – he gestured towards the unconscious newscaster. "So are you going to call Aunt Liz or should I?"

"Aunt Liz?" Stefan blinked back surprise. "Why would we call her?"

"They're working together. Probably to prevent some vampire uprising." Damon paused, now realizing the far-flung implications of his light spell. "And they'll add me to the list, now that Logan knows about my little secret."

As if his life weren't stressful enough… Damon sighed, pulling out his phone and facing the inevitable as they climbed in the car. With any luck, Aunt Liz might write this off as a side effect of the hallucinatory drugs Logan had been taking, but he doubted it. Logan seemed smart enough to ingest vervain, so Bonnie's little mind trick wouldn't work on him, even if Damon had condoned the effort.

Stefan grimaced. "Because you defended an innocent girl's life? Damon, come on. I doubt it."

"You never know with that asshole."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Except, when they made the phone call on their drive back to the Manor, _Caroline_ had answered the phone rudely, with a "Damon, what the hell? You're interrupting Movie Night!"

Stefan didn't even try to hide his laughter, which thankfully assuaged Caroline's ruffled feathers. She said, much more sweetly, "Oh, hey, Stefan! Is this serious, then?"

"Eh."

His kid brother was the most helpful when he wanted to be. Damon groaned, keeping his focus on the road rather than Aunt Liz's shallow-minded teenage daughter. "I wanted to tell your mom that we found Vicki Donovan. She's staying with Bonnie for the night."

"I didn't even know she was missing…" Caroline's voice grew distant, undoubtedly as she checked her own cell phone. "Oh, no, wait, Matt texted me a minute ago to ask. Thanks for the heads up."

Aunt Liz's voice cut in with, "Damon? Is everything okay?"

Damon tensed, his shoulders rising as he tried not to focus on the inevitable: if the entire town realized the Salvatores had supernatural powers beyond most people's imagination, the Council would strip them of their privilege and ostracize them. While Damon hated tradition, he didn't want his parents to lose the rights they had inherited. "Yeah, I guess. Have a good night, Aunt Liz."

"You too," Aunt Liz said as she hung up.

Stefan awkwardly reached for Damon's other hand and lightly traced patterns in his brother's palm as Damon drove back home. "You gonna be okay?"

Now that was the real question. Damon couldn't keep his head straight anymore, and he was pretty sure that some small part of his brain was going crazy from the inner turmoil that ruled his thoughts. If he was outed as a wizard, then he'd have to leave the life he had always known. Mason had wisely left town before they could ban him; only now did Damon wish that he had made the same choice. If he had, right now, then he wouldn't be battling himself every time he opened his mouth. Even the silence of the drive back was deafening. The music from their radio didn't help – it was all white noise to their ears.

"I think so," he said slowly as he parked the car in their garage, because what else could he tell his kid brother? As he headed back inside with Stefan, he added, "Yeah, I will be. Come on, let's get some sleep."

 

 

 

 

 

For the next few days, Damon waited for the other shoe to drop. He had half-expected Aunt Liz to break through his front door with her .42 customized handgun, yelling at him to hold his hands up as she recited his rights to him. (He had a lot of nightmares about jail, he belatedly realized one morning half-way through making Stefan tea. That couldn't possibly be healthy.)

Nothing happened. Instead, work kept him preoccupied, as his supervisor had left for a conference, leaving him, Misao, and undergraduate interns in charge of their clinical trial. Between answering numerous phone calls, answering emails, and generally running himself ragged, Damon hadn't exactly had much downtime. Maybe half a week had passed since that night, when he arrived home early to cook dinner and finish up his presentation for the Augustine Society. As Damon left the stew to simmer on the stove, he passed through the den, stopping when he noticed Stefan and Tyler in the middle of the room.

"Sorry I've been MIA," Stefan was saying, lying down next to a cross-legged Tyler. "I would've helped you polish that treaty, but… life's been weird."

Tyler shrugged, his gaze intent on the sketchbook in his lap. Mason had always said that of the Lockwoods, Tyler best knew how to wield a paintbrush. When Tyler thought no one was looking, he sketched his surroundings in a hand-sewn notebook. Once, Damon could have sworn he saw his exhausted likeness on the page. Aunt Carol and Uncle Richard framed every one, claiming it was 'some local artist' since Tyler refused to associate himself with the art world. ("I'm not hipster enough," he had claimed once, after Damon had caught him mid-sketch. "It doesn't exactly go with my image here. It's more Jeremy's than mine.")

Smudging his lines with the edge of his palm, Tyler sketched his best friend deftly, with quick, bold lines that expressed Stefan's every move. "I get it," said Tyler. "I'm just really tired of talking."

"What happened? The short version, so I can pretend to be helpful?"

Tyler glanced up from his sketch. "Vicki and I took a break."

Damon was pretty sure that the true story was nowhere near Tyler's condensed events, considering that he hadn't heard from either Bonnie or Vicki since that fateful night, but whatever soothed Dickwood Jr's ego.

Stefan's entire expression softened as he scooted closer. "Oh god. I'm sorry. Are you… Well, that's a dumb question."

"Dumbest question ever," Tyler said, snorting slightly as he resumed his sketch. "I'll be okay. She wasn't exactly my girl, you know?"

Every so often, Tyler would say something so stupid that Damon wondered how he and Mason were related. Women weren't exactly _objects_ , frat-bro-in-training. Mason respected women far more often than his nephew, whereas Tyler callously regarded them as people who pleased him, instead of an equal partner in life. The whole idea made Damon nauseous.

Stefan's expression also grew uneasy. "I guess. So what do you wanna do?"

Tyler casually reached for colored pencils and started to shade in his sketch. "I don't know. Anything'll be a good distraction."

"Anything? You sure?" Stefan grabbed the pillow nearest him, holding it carefully as he took it out of its pillowcase and held it in his hands. Damon recognized that gleam – it was the same one that appeared in Stefan's eyes every time he won an academic tournament – and for a second, Damon was tempted to stop him. Honestly? If Scumfell knew, the whole town certainly wasn't far behind.

"I'm pretty sure." Now Tyler was staring – gawking, really – as Stefan tore open the pillow and let the feathers fly. "Uh, Stef…?"

"Remember when you said I might be psychic? You were right." Stefan was speaking far too quickly as he held out his hand, barely above the feathers, and concentrated on them. "Tyler, I've got actual _magic_ in me."

"No!" Tyler was shaking his head, scoffing at the feathers flying straight into his face. "Stef, I think you've been watching too much TV."

"Really." Stefan scowled, his gaze focused on the feathers before him. He inhaled sharply, and then… then the feathers – all of them – floated in mid-air, forming a light ring around Tyler. Tyler gasped as they wove in and out around him, forming multiple rings that encased him long enough to lift him about a centimeter off the ground. This wasn't a trick that could be written off by fans or air conditioning or even a breeze from outside: the multiple rings were far beyond a simple trick of the wind.

"Holy _shit_." Tyler whistled as his hand reached out for the feathers, lightly dancing across the edge of his palm. "You… you're a real wizard?"

"Honest to God." Stefan laughed, performing the cross symbol across his chest as he allowed the feathers (and Tyler) to float back down to the ground. "Promise me you won't tell anyone?"

There was no hesitation in Tyler's voice as he said, "I promise."

Maybe – maybe Damon had assumed far too much about Tyler, if he were sitting up straighter with a tightened throat and awe in his eyes. To this kid, Stefan commanded respect, and Tyler was just the bodyguard who shielded him from the world. Stefan hadn't told a single soul – not even Elena, because she would've blown down their door and demanded a proper explanation. If Stefan had knowingly, purposefully burdened Tyler with this knowledge first, it said more about his brother than Damon cared to admit. For a second, Damon could've sworn he was looking at a mirror, of a time he remembered so long ago, before Tyler's voice jolted him back to reality.

"Uh… does Damon know?" Tyler said, gesturing towards the doorway.

Stefan nodded, turning his head towards Damon. "Yeah, it kind of runs in the family. Hey, is dinner ready?"

"Almost," Damon said, remembering his stack of books in the library and the decreasing desire to see yet another graph about his clinical trial. God, sometimes school was the worst. When he didn't actually want the distraction, it had to rear its ugly, flame-breathing head and demand results as soon as possible. "I'll call you in about ten minutes."

Right as Damon slammed the door behind him, Tyler had to stage whisper, "Not gonna lie, bro, this explains _so much_ about your family."

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

Bloodsuckers had started to haunt his nightmares. Just when Damon had thought he could escape them, they found new realms to torture him, occupying every spare crevice in his brain until he howled for sweet, sweet release. Even in nightmares - where he had lost control - they had turned on their heels, with black, empty eyes that matched their souls - or what remained of them - as they lunged forward for him.

All except Bonnie. She hovered protectively near his fallen body, kneeling down and brushing his bangs away from his face. " _Silly boy_ ," she was saying, " _Did you really think I'd leave a Salvatore for good?_ "

Her touch was unusually warm for a bloodsucker, Damon noted as he stared at her hand. "Wouldn't be the first time."

She scoffed. In the light, he could now notice her psychedelic, multicolored dress, one that barely reached her knees, and the purple peace sign necklace dangling around her neck. For reasons completely beyond his comprehension, his nightmares had decided to go retro. Even his own clothes screamed the 60's, which amused him slightly because he'd never lived in that decade (nor had he ever planned to revisit its poor fashion choices).

Ignoring his smirk, she said, " _Your whole family's the same, I swear_."

"What do you mean?"

She didn't answer. With one swift click of her heels, she lunged at the shadows, effortlessly vanquishing them with her sheer willpower. Still, her own empty, black eyes didn't bode well - and as she reached out for him, he screamed, kicking back against his own headboard.

He groaned, opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling. For not the first time that week, he had woken up in a sweat. Strange: he hadn't opened the window, and yet, his curtains were billowing in the light breeze. Damon groggily rose to his feet to close it, ignoring how he nearly tripped on his too-long pajama pants, before he reached for his phone and double-checked the time. Great. Not only were his nightmares unusually vivid, with guest star Bloodsucker Bennett, but it was also 4:30 AM, and he couldn't lull himself back to sleep.

Lazily, he flopped back onto his bed and double-checked his messages. Mom had sent him a few texts before the Vicki mess had unfurled; of course, because his phone sucked, he had received them only seconds ago.

**4:04 AM** \- sorry, our cell signal was non-existent! I'll try to call tomorrow morning your time :)

**4:10 AM** \- we had a good trip, btw. stay safe and make good choices!

This, naturally, was accompanied by a voicemail. Mom's soft, warm voice had told him (or his phone, rather), "I don't know if you got my texts, but Gattino, I'm sorry we've been unavailable. Our trip was good, but you know the service out in the countryside... Also, you said Stefanizo's been lighting candles all by himself? We can talk to him, but call us back when you've got time, alright? We know you're busy‒"

"He's a big boy, dear, he can give Stefanizo the talk himself," Dad's voice interrupted in the background. Damon snorted; typical Dad, wanting Damon to shoulder as much responsibility as an older sibling possibly could, and then some. Why bother with a long-distance call when Damon could do it himself?

"It never hurts to ask!" Mom was probably rolling her eyes at Dad, considering the slight pout in her voice. "Keep us posted, okay? You can even show him the basement if you need to. Love you, talk to you soon!"

If he couldn't sleep, he might as well, right? Inhaling sharply, Damon returned the call, hoping to dear God that that they had a decent signal, because he sure couldn't call later, with his major presentation in the afternoon and god-knows-what in the evening. At this point in his life, he was strongly considering to ask bloodsuckers if they could maybe pencil in danger once a week – like, say, Thursdays? Nothing ever happened then.

"Damon?" Mom sounded slightly perplexed, no doubt checking the time as she answered. "Everything alright? Isn't it really early there?"

"We're fine, and yeah, it's early." He resisted a yawn, curling up underneath his blankets. "I gave Stefan the Talk, by the way. His raw power's almost staggering, Mom - like, stronger than mine was at that age."

Mom was quiet for a second. She whispered, so softly Damon had to be mishearing her, "I was worried about that."

"You were?" Damon furrowed his brow. Was this foretold or something? Was it in the Tarot cards that he never really believed? Because last he checked, raw power didn't indicate much beyond an intense connection to nature.

Mom coughed. "I mean, I was worried about you reining him in. Is it difficult? Do we need to head home early?"

"Nothing like that." If Damon were a selfish prick, he would've said yes, because Stefan was entangled in a web far beyond Damon's control. If Damon were an ass, he would've told Mom the whole truth - that a bloodsucker named Anna had transformed Kelly Donovan's daughter into one of them, and that Damon hadn't been able to prevent it. Instead, he swallowed his worries, telling her empty platitudes such as "You wanted me to keep you posted, so uh... here I am. I've got a presentation today, so I was up early."

"Good luck. I bet you couldn't sleep, could you?" Mom laughed softly. "I thought I heard the drowsiness in your voice."

He never could hide much from her. Damon chuckled too, pressing his phone closer to his ear. He patiently reminded himself that she would be home soon, and for a few weeks, they could pretend that they were a normal family, without the magic or the distance separating them. He could talk to her about girls and cooking and normal stuff that didn't involve alchemy, instead of Stefan's powers and bloodsuckers and exactly everything that made his life more difficult. So he said, "Not really. I'll be fine, though."

"You always are." Her voice grew wistful as she started to rustle through some papers. "Your dad's gonna call Stefan and double-check on stuff. Is that alright?"

"That's fine. You can talk to him too." It was an empty gesture because while Stefan loved Mom, he had always understood Dad better. Mom knew that better than perhaps anyone.

Damon could even imagine Mom shaking her head as she said, "I think your Dad wants to have that conversation, so I'll let him break the news. Good luck on your presentation, Gattino! I'm sure you'll be fine."

"I hope so."

Damon didn't remember hanging up on her, nor did he quite remember burrowing himself underneath his covers. What he did remember was his alarm clock screeching two hours later, around 6:45 AM, and his mad scramble to change into something "professional" for his presentation that afternoon. He wouldn't have time, between work and his seminars, to change into something else, so he had to wear a linen blazer and black denim jeans into work.

Even with his limited sleep, he could still cook breakfast in time for Stefan, so Damon hurriedly rushed downstairs after grooming himself as minimally as possible and brewed some tea for them. Stefan headed downstairs, just as Damon was scrambling eggs for them, and dumped his backpack on the nearest chair as he headed over to make them toast.

"Were you up super early?" Stefan glanced sleepily at the eggs, nearly reaching for them instead of the loaf of homemade bread. "I thought I heard you talking to someone."

"Just Mom." Damon waved it off with his hand as he placed the eggs on their plates. "I couldn't sleep last night, so I figured I could kill time."

Stefan furrowed his brow, tearing off a piece of his toast and staring up at Damon. "Because of your big presentation?"

Not quite. While the stress of his presentation had slowly bubbled over the past couple of weeks, Damon could handle antsy board members who relied on traditions and legacies (like the rest of the damn state). Everything had boiled over last night – bloodsuckers, big bad council members, and even Aunt Liz and Scumfell – into a giant, burnt mess that Damon couldn't begin to salvage. Save for Stefan's occasional mentions of Bonnie, he hadn't heard from either her or Vicki in five days now. Logically, he understood that his disapproval had made Vicki uneasy - and yet, some small part of him wanted reassurance that her undead existence was alright.

Last night, Stefan had mentioned something about a new history teacher - one who looked like Mother Teresa compared to Coach Tanner - but Damon had been far, far too sleepy to ask for more details. He was still too sleepy, technically, so he shrugged nonchalantly at Stefan's question. "Something like that. What're your plans for today? Does Elena have a big cheerleading thing? Or maybe Jeremy has an art show?"

Stefan shook his head. "Nah. Tyler and I have Model UN, but that usually ends around 5… Why? Anything big?"

"Dad wants to talk to you, so maybe show up a little bit late?"

"He does?" Stefan sat up a bit straighter, the confusion evident in his eyes as he looked at Damon for cues. When Damon wasn't providing any, Stefan asked, "How come? Is it about school or something else…?"

"I'll let him tell you," Damon answered cheekily, watching as Stefan's confusion only intensified. God, sometimes Stefan made it too easy to withhold information. Knowing the poor kid, he'd dwell about it all day, until someone – usually Elena – snapped him out of his funk. "It shouldn't take long, so keep an eye out for his number."

"Sure thing." Stefan finished off his plate, placing it in the sink and slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. In only a couple of weeks, his younger brother had gained a kind of grace that couldn't be explained by physical prowess (because Stefan had absolutely none). Magic had done his brother well. "Good luck on your presentation, by the way. I know you're gonna impress Augustine."

"I'd better. I worked way too hard on this presentation," Damon groaned, nearly mussing up his hair as he helped himself to more tea. "And since Misao isn't with me this year, there's no way it could—"

"Don't jinx yourself," Stefan interrupted quickly, as he turned towards the door. "I know you: you're going to psych yourself out. It'll be great, and we'll have dinner at the Grille to celebrate."

"We really need a new hangout," Damon said absentmindedly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at Stefan as he finished his meal and reached for the keys. As much as he liked the food at the Grille, burgers and fries got boring after a while. Surely there was enough room in this town for more than one kind of restaurant? The coffee shop was great, but they didn't frequent it nearly as much as he would've liked. Not when the Grille served actual hot meals.

Stefan just wrinkled his nose as they headed off to school – their various schools, anyhow – together. "At least we know the food's always going to be good."

 

 

  

  

  

 

Good food or no, the routine had grounded him when his life was starting to fall apart. Damon didn't even bother visiting work today, since Misao had taken the day off to meet her boyfriend; Wes was TAing a class; and the other interns were cooped up in various corners, studying for midterms. Jessalyn, his supervisor, had sent him a good-luck text with way too many emoticons for his own good – and although he was poking fun at it, he couldn't quite hide the smile on his face as he tucked his phone into his pocket.

To retain their illusion of prestige (Augustine technically was the highest-ranking society on campus, save for some professional fraternities), they held their presentations in the Augustine house. Damon always felt shivers down his spine every time he entered, yet he could never quite explain them.

"There's something fishy about them, that's for sure," Aunt Sheila had said today, when he dropped by her office just before his presentation.

Reaching for the bowl of chocolate on her desk, Damon silently agreed. For as long as he'd known Aunt Sheila, she had led the Occult Studies department with an iron fist – one that had always rankled Augustine's shackles. To Augustine, the supernatural was to be studied from a distance, not up close and personal, as if it were a constant presence in people's lives. Because, hilariously, magic didn't exist to them. Damon sighed. Loudly. "You're telling me. I'm supposed to give my talk in an hour, but…"

"On your thesis, or…?"

"Unfortunately." He grimaced, unwrapping the piece of dark chocolate and plopping it into his mouth. "Though speaking of my work… what about your granddaughter? I haven't seen her in a while."

Aunt Sheila's expression softened as she leaned back in her leather chair. "She's doing well. From what I understand, you helped her save Victoria."

Victoria… right, Sheila was also the only person in this entire town who called Vicki by her birth name. Damon avoided her gaze, instead pulling out his tablet and flipping to his presentation (which he'd long since memorized). "It was nothing."

"I'd say it's something, Day. You didn't have to involve yourself in this."

"Kind of hard not to get involved, when it came knocking on my front door." He hunched over, re-reading the slides for anything out of the ordinary. When it came to his research – his work with differently-abled people – he had to be absolutely, positively perfect. Augustine would accept nothing less.

Aunt Sheila hummed for a few seconds. Awkward silence threatened to hold over the room, until Aunt Sheila broke it by saying, "Are you afraid they'll find out, if you go through with this?"

He couldn't respond to her, not when she'd hit the nail on the head so precisely. Damon slid his tablet onto her desk, gesturing wordlessly to each slide. For the past year, he hadn't once expressed his magic, instead lying low and pretending that he was a normal adult living some semblance of a normal life. If Scumfell had reached them, then Damon could forget studying here. He could forget staying in Mystic Falls too. He had always imagined escaping Mystic Falls, but he hadn't quite imagined fleeing it out of shame.

"It looks fine to me," Aunt Sheila said softly, as she scanned each slide thoroughly. "You're explaining your study and why your role in it matters – why you're studying their brain patterns – and you should be fine."

An email popped up on his tablet. Opening it, Aunt Sheila shot Damon a bemused expression as she handed the tablet back to him. "They changed the location of your talk? To the _physics_ building?"

"I guess they're trying to be more open with the public." Damon wrinkled his nose, carefully placing his tablet into his black leather messenger bag. It wasn't like Augustine, but then, the sooner he got this talk over with, the sooner he could celebrate with his friends and family. "If you see Blood—I mean, if you see Bonnie tonight when you get back…"

"I'll let her know you care." Aunt Sheila chuckled.

Damon scowled. "Not even remotely close. I don't know how you stand her sometimes."

"Blood's thicker than water, Damon," she mysteriously explained, as she watched him head out the door and to his presentation. "You, of all people, should know that better than anyone."

The presentation went as well as it could, considering it was in the Physics auditorium instead of the quiet, dimly-lit seclusion of the Augustine house. His talk lasted maybe five minutes, but the questions lasted far, far longer. From fielding questions about his thesis ("So you just make a lot of models about how people perceive things?") to the truly absurd from one panelist ("so you mean people with PTSD perceive things differently than the average person?"), he must've been up there for twenty minutes. Damon struggled to rein in his temper, instead forcing himself to envision Anna, and how he would roast that bloodsucker alive the next time he saw her.

The panelists had praised him, noting how "calm and professional" he had remained the entire time, and that they would talk to Jessalyn about additional funding for Damon in upcoming months. Damon could barely contain his anguish, stomping on his own foot as he listened to their thinly-veiled praise.

Once he had been relinquished from academic hell, he had immediately called Jenna up. "What is so hard to get about cognitive psych?"

"Everything, judging from your tone," Jenna had responded, the surprise more than evident in her voice. "Your talk didn't go so well?"

"Oh, it went great. I just think Augustine knows absolutely nothing about my discipline, since their questions were all super dumb."

"Welcome to the rest of Whitmore," Jenna had agreed; Damon could even picture her twirling her hair, like she always did when she got exasperated. "But you got the funding, yeah?"

"Yeah, and that's all that matters. How's your thesis coming along?"

Jenna groaned. Loudly. "Don't remind me! We're gonna go out and celebrate, and I'm gonna see Logan since he's been really busy this past week, and we're gonna forget about the giant folders waiting for me at home." (Wait, Logan was? Scumfell had better not have ditched Jenna for some other girl - or far more likely, some other bloodsucker.)

"Aw, but I thought you wanted to graduate before you turned 30."

"Damon Salvatore, don't make me come over there and—"

"And what?" He chuckled. "I'm already heading to the Grille. You can't do much from here."

"Argh! I'll see you soon."

She unceremoniously hung up on him, forcing Damon to concentrate on the drive to the Grille. Just as he headed out of his car, he saw a young woman waiting on the front steps of the restaurant for him. Her empty, black eyes perfectly matched her curly, jet-black hair, and as she dourly glared at him, Damon almost wished he had brought his stake.

"Salvatore."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Bloodsucker."

"I have a name, you know," she said with a grimace as she rose to her feet. "You could use it once in a while."

"What do you want?" He folded his arms, grateful for once that he could easily tower over her (even with her high heels). "I don't have time to play games with you."

"For starters, you could say thank you." She rose to her feet, gesturing towards the man casually talking to the waitress at the door. Damon stood there, rooted to the ground as he gawked at nearby Scumfell.

Taking his silence for an answer, Anna lightly tapped Scumfell's shoulder. "Hey, Logan? What's Damon's big secret?"

Scumfell laughed so brazenly that Damon almost wanted to pass out on the spot. "He's a total nerd. You know that necklace of his? It's…"

Anna stepped forward, staring straight into his eyes. Logan's own eyes glossed over, losing their luster as she said, "I don't actually care. Salvatore's a nerd, and that was the big secret you learned in the woods. You had caught him and Stefan playing one of their nerd game in the woods, remember? Bonnie and I and Vicki were just watching, and you were the good guy who made sure we got home safe."

"Of course. Nerds of a feather…" He laughed softly, still staring straight into Anna's black eyes.

Anna released him from her iron grasp, watching as Scumfell slyly slung his arm across Jenna's shoulder and disappeared into the crowd with her. Once he was out of hearing range, Damon finally found the energy to say, "Why would you do that?"

(Sure, his secret had remained safe, but at the expense of his reputation? Who had he pissed off to deserve this?)

"Because. You need your magic to stay secret, just like I need mine to stay under wraps, and now that it will… you owe me a favor." She smiled wickedly, baring her fangs as she reached out for his hand. "What do you say, Salvatore? You think you can perform a spell for me?"

"Anna?" Bonnie's voice cut out loud and clear as she stepped across the Grille's threshold. "Anna, we don't have time for this."

Damon stared down at Anna's hand, at the large, gaudy lapis lazuli ring on her finger. No good could come of accepting her offer – especially if she was at such odds with Bonnie – and yet she had wiped Scumfell's memories clean of the whole incident. Damon couldn't accept mind magic at the cost of someone's free will, even if it allowed his conscience to breathe. Yet Anna had performed a fitting favor, considering it was her fault that he had exposed his secret in the first place.

"Why'd you turn Vicki into one of you?"

"Excuse me?" Anna glared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I saw her drink your blood the other day, at the coffee shop," Damon said, focusing all of his concentration on her tiny brain. "If you don't give me a straight answer, I just might make some vessels go pop…"

"Aw, after I saved your sorry butt? When you first told Logan the truth?"

She did what exactly? Damon instinctively reached for his pockets, knowing full well that he had come to the Grille unarmed. "It was your sorry fault I had to in the first place."

"Uh-huh." She whistled softly, circling him as if he were her prey and she fully intended to devour him for dinner, rather than some poor sap at the bar. "You didn't have to help Vicki. She would've transitioned with or without you, and well… she needed a better life, one with a future that didn't involve teenage pregnancy or drugs. How was I supposed to know that you'd march in and save the day?"

There was no remorse in her voice; if anything, her entire demeanor had changed as she stood straighter, with an unflinching stare that betrayed her innocent act. Damon returned that stare, pressing his hand to the side of his head as he mentally recited the incantation—

"Anna!"

Saved by the stupid bloodsucker. Bonnie cut in between them, reaching for Anna's hand and pulling her towards the crowd. Although Bonnie refused to meet his gaze, Damon noted the faintest hint of a smile as she turned away from him. Maybe he hadn't soured their relationship as badly as he'd once thought.

As they headed inside, Anna mouthed to him, "Just think about my offer."

Before he had time to reflect on her words, Stefan and Tyler rushed into the Grille, nearly knocking over him with their (combined) physical strength as they headed for the door. Swerving to grab his arm, Tyler steadied Damon, waiting until Damon could stand straight.

"Hey, you shouldn't stand there," Tyler was saying, with a slightly exasperated expression as Stefan looked on. "You're a sitting duck in the middle of those steps."

"You okay, Damon?" Stefan gestured towards the door, as Tyler held it open for them.

Damon could only blankly nod as he followed them inside. "Yeah," he said, ruffling Stefan's hair, "I think I'll pull through."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in my haste to introduce a certain someone, I might've fudged up the timeline ever so slightly. Don't worry, Alaric's coming up really soon! I just figured, I wanted to get the plot up to speed before I brought him along (since these chapters've covered the first seven or eight episodes so far).

To accept Anna's offer or not to accept, that was the giant question looming over Damon's head as he joined his friends. The Grille had undergone a couple of minor renovations since Damon last stepped foot inside. For one thing, numerous security cameras were tucked inside – this Damon remembered, from the aftermath of the Vicki incident. However, he hadn't quite expected its aura to haunt him, clinging to his bones and reeking of guilt. Tyler and Stefan headed for a long table at the end, joining Elena, Bonnie, Jeremy, and Caroline; Matt, unfortunately, was stuck on duty, and Anna was chatting up Aunt Liz about something or another. Judging from Aunt Liz's easygoing stance, Anna was beneath suspicion – good thing too, because Damon couldn't exactly connect her to raccoon infestations.

Logan and Jenna were waiting for him near the bar, at an elevated table that seated four people. "Damon, you up for a round?" Logan gestured towards the empty pool tables, mimicking pushing a cue stick towards the neatly-arranged balls.

While it was the kindest gesture Scumfell had made since they rekindled their strange relationship, Damon couldn't even think of playing pool. He'd snap and "accidentally" stab Scumfell with the cue stick, and then Aunt Liz would arrest him before the night ended.

"Nah, you two have fun. I'll keep the table warm." Damon even forced a laugh, gently nudging Jenna and Logan away. Not even Jenna's guilty eyes could coerce him into playing a round, when his exhaustion was close to overtaking him.

He figured, Jenna was a big girl. She could fight her own battles. Plus, Scumfell even had the nerve to call Jeremy over, who more than gladly accepted the cue stick! Did Jeremy have no shame, or was he more after his old pocket watch? Because as far as Damon knew, it had never been properly returned to the kid.

Of course, Donovan Jr. chose that exact moment to walk over. "Hey, Damon."

"Jenna and Logan'll be back soon," Damon said instinctively, glancing up from the menu he had long since memorized.

Matt pressed his lips together, pulling out a notepad from his pocket. "I know. Um, I actually wanted to ask you something." Over the past couple of weeks, the kid had lost most of his exuberance: he had darker circles under his eyes, and his bright smile didn't quite reach the rest of his face. Exhaustion was slowly but surely taking its toll on the kid; even Matt's stance was a bit wobbly, hindered by lack of sleep.

Damon blinked back surprise. "What's up?"

"You're studying psychology, right? I was wondering – and this is all hypothetical – what you would do if you knew someone who thought he was losing his mind."

First Stefan, now Matt… who was next? Damon involuntarily glanced at Elena, at her joyous laughter as she leaned into Stefan's shoulders and pretended that she didn't have a care in the world. These kids were far too young to fight, and if he had his way, he would be the only one rushing into battle. His gaze met Bonnie's – and for a moment, time ceased to exist. For a few seconds, he saw her as a shadow of his nightmare, with blood streaming down her cheeks. Except, when he blinked, the vision had disappeared entirely.

Rubbing his eyes, Damon said, "Um, well… is the guy opposed to therapy? Because I'd start there."

Matt avoided Damon's gaze, instead hastily writing down Damon's usual on his notepad. "Paying for therapy, maybe. He doesn't think he can afford it."

At least he thought therapy was a legitimate option. Damon tilted his head ever-so-slightly. "You know what? I know some people at Whitmore who need clinical hours to get certified. I can ask – for your friend, of course – if they can take him on for cheap. University therapists also take people, especially if you don't have health insurance, where the sliding scale's based on your income." He paused, gesturing towards Jenna. "Or if your friend is really desperate, they could always ask her for free. I hear she's not _terrible._ "

Barely containing his laughter, Matt finally dared to look up at Damon. "If I wanted ill-timed advice, I'd ask Jenna. If you could, I – it would mean the world to him."

Wait, Matt had specifically sought him over Jenna because he believed Damon was more mature? In what crazy, messed-up world? (No wonder the kid needed a therapist.) Damon ventured to ask, "Out of curiosity, why does he think he's going nuts?"

"His sister's been acting up. She doesn't stay at home much, her diet's gotten all weird, she doesn't bother going to school 'cause she's too damn cold all the time… and between her and his mother thinking about coming back, life's been a little rough. I think she even broke up with her current boyfriend. Boyfriends? I've lost track of her love life."

Damon could understand that. He could understand the burden of acting as the head of the family, of acting as a stable influence for everyone else, and of acting as if the entire world weren't ending every second. Vicki was supposed to care for Matt, but in the Donovan household, the roles had always been reversed.

"Maybe your…. Uh, your friend's sister's the one that needs therapy?" Damon suggested, reaching for a piece of paper and scribbling down some of his classmates' numbers. "Tell them I sent you, and see what they say."

"I get that, and uh, I'll put your orders in." Matt pocketed the numbers, holding up the notepad as he headed towards the kitchen. "Thanks."

Bonnie gestured confusedly at him, but Damon could only shrug in response. Even he wasn't sure what had just happened, and he was one half of that giant conversation. If anything, he just hoped that Matt followed through on calling someone – someone with the proper certification and training - for guidance.

Excusing herself from Stefan and Elena (who were too busy rubbing their noses together, in clear view of Caroline's AND Tyler's disgusted faces), Bonnie wandered over to him, dumping her purse on the table as she wagged a finger at him. "Maybe I should ease Matt's suffering, if he's coming to you for advice…"

Damon rolled his eyes. "I know this might surprise you, but _sometimes_ , I can be a decent guy."

"Only sometimes?" Her lips quirked upwards as she leaned forward to better look at him. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Salvatore."

What was it with girls and their inability to see past his appearance? If he were a decent guy, maybe he could keep a steady girlfriend for more than 2.5 seconds. Mystic Falls had suffered from a severe drought of attractive ladies his age – and at Whitmore, he was far too busy with work to consider the dating pool. He snorted, thanking Matt with a nod as the kid returned with a glass of bourbon.

Bonnie seized it with her vampiric reflexes, downing it in one gulp. "Also, please don't tell me you're considering Anna's offer."

Damon groaned, gesturing to the glass as he got Matt's attention again. Of course, Matt had to roll his eyes, because nearly everyone in this damn town was convinced he was an alcoholic. "I wasn't planning on it. I don't work with bloodsuckers – you were a one-time-only deal."

"I'm sure I was. Problem is, Anna won't stop until she gets you to work your magic for her."

Damon had faced far worse than a teenage vampire, and at the rate his life was going, he was almost certain that she wouldn't be the last. Matt handed him another glass of bourbon; this time, Damon seized it before Bonnie could steal it from him.

"Why? Is it because she's into me?"

"I see you're modest too." Bonnie sat down, her gaze drifting to Anna as the other bloodsucker nonchalantly left the restaurant. "Do you remember the Night of the Comet? It amplified the spiritual energy residing in Mystic Falls. The same energy, coincidentally, that Anna needs. Plus, why go for a half-decent wizard when she could go for a Salvatore?"

"You don't want her to win," He said slowly, furrowing his brow (and ignoring Bonnie's backhanded compliment). The sick, twisted game they were playing wasn't worth his effort. One of them was definitely in the right – but he wasn't willing to trust either, if lives were hanging in the balance.

"No, I don't."

Damon leaned forward. "So why I should I trust you over her?" While Bonnie had aided him in retrieving Vicki and educating her in the ways of the vegetarian vampire, she hadn't fully given him reason. Not even the Bonnie in his nightmares had fully gained his trust, and she was protecting his unconscious body!

Quietly, Bonnie said, "You can't. But if Anna succeeds, Mystic Falls won't be the same."

He sat up straighter, now fully taking in the loud atmosphere around them. If Anna succeeded, then Jenna and Jeremy wouldn't team up to defeat Logan in a rousing game of pool; Caroline and Tyler wouldn't be taking bets on how long Stefan and Elena could make out without _breathing_ ; and Aunt Liz wouldn't converse easily with the Grille's owner over everyday matters. If she succeeded, the supernatural would creep around every corner, threatening to eat up what semblance of a normal life Damon and Stefan had. While Damon's inner psychologist was fascinated, Damon couldn't allow her to take over so blatantly. Not without a fight.

"Exactly," Bonnie said, as if confirming his thoughts. "She wins, and then our lives become hell."

"Our?"

She bit on her lip. "I mean, your life."

Now she'd really caught his attention. "Aw. Maybe you do have a heart somewhere in there, Bloodsucker."

"Maybe." She scooted in unreasonably close, so close, in fact, that he could even inhale the intoxicating bourbon on her lips. Damon lowered his head, and—and Jenna's laughter jolted him back to his senses.

She and Logan flopped down on the empty chairs, while Jeremy triumphantly looked on with a certain pocket watch dangling from his jeans pocket. The second he noticed Damon's pointed gaze, Jeremy hastily shoved it further down his pocket. "Guess who won the game? This _nerd_."

"Only because you play waaaay too many video games," Jenna retorted, laughing so hard that her hair buried her entire face. Logan, of course, had to brush it away from her face. Jeremy and Damon simultaneously gagged, pushing themselves as far away from the (obnoxious) lovebirds as possible.

Bonnie rolled her eyes at them, as she rose from her seat and headed back towards the others. "Thanks for your help, Damon. I'll see you later."

"Your help? Do I want to know?" Jeremy tilted his head at Damon.

"Not really." Damon shrugged, motioning for Jeremy to sit at the empty chair. "But tell me, how the hell did you pull one over Scum—Logan?"

As Jeremy launched into a rousing tale – one where neither Logan nor Jenna could keep a straight face – Damon found his gaze drifting back towards Bonnie, towards the kids he had sworn to protect, and towards the amber gem half-hidden under Stefan's sweater. If he was going to protect them from Anna, he needed to uncover her true motivations and the spells she so desperately sought.

 

 

 

 

Two days later, Tyler dropped off a costume at Salvatore Manor before he and Stefan headed to school. Honestly, Damon and Stefan had entirely forgotten that Halloween was around the corner. Between teaching Stefan spells, keeping up with his seminars and work, and dealing with life, Damon hadn't made much room for fun. Which was a shame, because Halloween really was one of his favorite holidays of the year.

"Dad said to be careful on Halloween, when he was giving me the speech about my magic," Stefan was telling Tyler as he offered some toast and tea. "Supposedly it amplifies our powers or something crazy."

Damon remembered that same warning – one he ignored every year, because life was far too short for caution. Stefan had promised that his talk with Dad had gone well, even if it was slightly boring because Dad wanted Stefan to _understand_ the magic before he practiced it. ("Dad might've been a little late to that bandwagon," Stefan had mused.

"Gee, you think?" Damon had responded, barely containing his laughter. Good ol' Dad, giving practical advice long after it was useful.)

"Of course it does." Tyler might've grinned a little too widely as he dangled a shopping bag in his best friend's face. "So remember when you said you were too lazy to get a new costume? I might've pulled some strings…"

Stefan only had to peer inside for his entire face to lose its color. "Seriously?"

"Come on, it's Halloween! Can't a guy want some stupid, drunken, Vicki-free fun with his best friend?"

Damon nearly choked on his tea. Their break-up must've really gotten to the kid, for him to openly declare this in Damon's presence. For God's sake, it wasn't even noon.

"With _this_? _"_ Stefan pulled out an incredibly long canary yellow and black scarf, holding it up against his chest with a long, pointed sigh.

"Like anyone would actually think you had magic," Damon pointed out, resisting the urge to burst out into hysterical laughter. "For Halloween, you're going as yourself."

"See?" Tyler gestured wildly towards Damon. "Plus, you've got that weird gem-thing from Caroline."

"Yeah, except Elena wants us to match. It's apparently an unspoken couple thing." Stefan frowned, tucking the costume back into the shopping bag.

"So? She can be the witch to your wizard. Problem solved. Now, you said you'd help me with this treaty for the Assembly before we got to school…" Tyler then pulled out his laptop, gesturing towards the kitchen table.

Stefan groaned, following Tyler to the table and peering over at the screen. "You try telling her that. I mean, she already owns all the items, but she had something planned."

Damon couldn't say he missed high school, just from living vicariously through his younger brother. No one could pay him enough money to endure these shenanigans again, including Mystic Falls' annual Halloween celebration, and yet, some small part of him wished he weren't stuck at home with trick-or-treaters. The last time they left the house unattended, some 3rd grader had TPed the entire front lawn. In hindsight, leaving candy on the doorstep might've been a smarter move.

To Damon, Tyler said, "Hey, are you chaperoning tonight? Dad said we could use some extra hands." No doubt to curb on Lockwood Cider, especially after Damon & Mason had concocted a super alcoholic version that left kids hung over for days. Thankfully, Tyler's pitiful attempts were nowhere _near_ its former potency.

"I… could?" Damon didn't exactly have plans, beyond guaranteeing a TP-free front lawn and researching spells. If Mayor Lockwood really needed his help, Damon supposed he could lend a hand to the lesser Lockwood brother. "What about your new history teacher?"

"He's still moving in," Stefan said. "He only _just_ got the permanent job after he subbed for us."

 

 

 

 

That night, after researching sky-related spells until his eyelids drooped, Damon found himself near Mystic Falls High, dressed in his favorite Halloween costume – a black leather jacket with a white, feathery collar; black denim jeans; a v-necked white t-shirt, and his usual necklace dangling prominently around his neck. While he'd lost his black gloves, he had multiple belts tied around his waist in an x-shape. Of course, no one recognized him, which was the entire charm of dressing up as his favorite fictional character. No one could accuse him of lacking Halloween spirit!

No one except Jenna, anyhow, who merely rolled her eyes as she approached him. "Leonhart _again_? Now you're just getting lazy."

"Speak for yourself, sexy nurse." Damon chuckled, fiddling with the stethoscope around her neck. "Where's your boyfriend?"

"He's working. Figures, right?"

On the one holiday where Jenna made even poorer life decisions than usual? It was probably good for Scumfell's overall health. Damon wasn't keen on fighting him again. Jenna's gaze wandered towards Elena and Bonnie standing by one of the booths, before she said, "There's a party near Whitmore. You can always be my plus one…"

Any other time, Damon would've agreed in a heartbeat. He preferred the company of his own peers, because they enjoyed dumb board games – and sometimes badly-played tabletop RP - more than each other's faces. Except, with Bonnie around, Damon couldn't find the motivation to leave.

"I already agreed to chaperone," he found himself saying, frowning ever-so-slightly. "Plus, Misao's throwing a party tomorrow night. I thought we were gonna go together?"

"We are, we are. I figured, someone at my friend's party might recognize your costume for once." Still, Jenna's smile dimmed as she grabbed her car keys from her clutch purse and headed off towards her car. "See you tomorrow!"

Damon laughed as he watched her leave. As he turned to report for chaperoning duty, he ran smack into his kid brother.

"Hey, you actually made it!" Stefan waved, his canary yellow-and-black scarf falling around his shoulders with each movement he made. Even in this blistering heat, Stefan could wear a full wizard's school uniform without breaking a sweat. Damon could feel something pulsing – not his brother's heartbeat, and certainly not his own. The amber gem, tucked underneath Stefan's scarf, was faintly glowing.

Damon slowly nodded, instinctively reaching out for the gem. "Yeah. Can I… have that for tonight…?"

Stefan blinked, reaching for it and pulling it off. "Uh, sure. Just give it back to me later."

Tucking it safely in his jeans pocket, Damon breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing good could come from Stefan wearing that tonight, considering supernatural creatures (supposedly) adored Halloween. Surely Stefan felt that magical aura too – he had to have felt it – and surely there was a reason he wore it here, of all places.

While Damon headed to the chaperones' station, a kid in a hooded, black, short-sleeve cropped jacket brushed past him. Quickly seizing the kid's wrist, Damon could only grin at the kid and his even messier hair. "Hey, Jer. You're going somewhere pretty fast."

Jeremy squirmed, turning so Damon could better see his costume: underneath the jacket, he'd worn a red and blue tank-top, with a silver crown necklace dangling prominently from his neck, and even long, black pants and bright yellow sneakers. God knows it wasn't the most accurate costume, but then – last he heard, Jeremy hadn't planned on attending Halloween festivities.

"Or should I say," Damon said with a smirk, " _Sora_ , you're going somewhere pretty fast?"

"Hey _Leon."_ Jeremy returned the smirk, twirling to let go of Damon's grip. "Come on, man, can't I meet my girl?"

"Your girl?"

He was meeting Vicki? Here? Funny, because according to Matt, Vicki could barely say hello without flinching. Damon refused to let go, instead holding onto Jeremy's hand just a bit tighter. "Does anyone know?"

Jeremy blankly stared at him. "Uh… not unless you tell them."

"I'm just saying, she's not in a good place right now. You should be careful around her‒"

" _I'm_ not in a good place, Damon. Can't you trust me for once?" Breaking free from Damon's grip, Jeremy stormed off towards the gym.

Damon groaned to himself, resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands. "It's not you I'm worried about!"

As he rushed after Jeremy, brushing past elementary schoolkids (and nearly scaring one bitty UVA football player), he bumped against someone. Quickly stepping back, Damon opened his mouth to apologize, only to stare again at Bonnie's face.

"Cute. Did you forget what day it is?" he said, taking in her complete lack of a costume. Unlike everyone else at this gathering, she was dressed simply in a black dress that reached her knees, with her lapis lazuli necklace and silver bangles on her wrists being the only splash of color.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Says the guy who missed the anime convention. Hey, have you seen Vicki?"

"Can't say I have. I was just chasing Jeremy, actually." Damon pressed his lips together, instinctively reaching for the gem in his pocket. As he fished it out, placing it around his neck, he couldn't help noticing how Bonnie's eyes bulged.

She extended her palm, holding it out forcefully. "How'd you get that?"

"Oh, this?" Damon smirked. "It was a present from Stefan, who got it from Caroline."

"It belongs to my family. So, if you could please return it to me…"

"Can't say I feel comfortable with that, Bonbon."

"You can't say I didn't give you a choice." She lunged forward, grasping the gem for dear life. It sizzled in her hand, burning it so quickly that smoke nearly covered her hand. She jumped, letting it fall against his chest. Damon stared at her hand, healing from its new burn wound, then at the gem again.

"I don't have time for this." He sighed, keeping his eyes peeled in the general direction Jeremy had disappeared towards. "I'm gonna find Jeremy, and I bet you, your vegetarian friend's gonna be right alongside him."

Without another word, he ran. She followed him, more than easily keeping pace as they wove through the crowd. As Damon turned the corner, he concentrated on Jeremy and mentally recited the incantation for locating someone. The amber gem rose, pointing straight towards the school parking lot. Following it, noticing how the gem fluctuated every time he veered off-track, Damon let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as they reached the giant yellow schoolbuses. The gem fluttered, resting again next to his gunblade necklace as he turned the corner.

Jeremy and Vicki were in the middle, kissing each other as if the rest of the world ceased to exist. When he stepped forward, Vicki broke off, glancing with disdain at Damon. "If it isn't the bigot, coming to ruin our day."

"Bigot? But Vick, you're kinda whiter than white." Jeremy furrowed his brow, scrutinizing her carefully as he noticed Damon and Bonnie approaching them.

Bonnie resisted a laugh. "Come on, Vicki. We need to get you home."

"Oh, and what good will that do me? You've been keeping me cooped up inside for way too long, you know. Anna said so herself."

"Anna also doesn't drink willy-nilly!" Bonnie raised her voice, pushing herself in-between Jeremy and Vicki. "If you want to follow her example, _fine_. Play with Damon's stupid heart, but don't you dare think of wandering out and about like this until you've got everything under control."

Jeremy cautiously stepped back, murmuring, "Is this the 12 Step Plan, Vick? Do you need rehab?"

"Something like that," Damon said, holding out his hands in defeat as he stepped closer. "Except no, not really."

"No?" Vicki raised an eyebrow.

"Rehab would imply that we're cutting you off from the world, or that we're not letting you figure out your limits and letting you go within reason… just as it would imply that we've given up on you." Damon had threatened rehab several times last summer, just to make Jeremy listen, but dammit, it really wasn't the same for stupid bloodsuckers. There was no magical 12 Step Plan for them. There wasn't even a rulebook for vegetarian bloodsuckers, because he was pretty sure Bonnie blazed that path.

Defiantly raising her chin, Vicki said, "Then what do you want for me?"

Honestly? Damon used to think death, before he had seen the haunted look in Matt's eyes and the terror currently residing in Jeremy's. Bloodsuckers tainted everyone's memories of the person who formerly occupied that body, just as they parasitically drained resources meant to help the living (like, you know, blood drives). If Vicki rose above her instincts, she could follow the path Bonnie had created. If she wanted to, of course.

"I want you to live," he said simply, meeting her soulless gaze. "Anna gave you an out, so use it wisely. Don't stick around here if you think it's a dead end."

Bonnie stared at him, wide-eyed, before her lips curled into a smile. "Damon's right, for once. You wanted a better afterlife, yeah? You're not gonna get it here."

"Hey!" Despite the confusion written all over Jeremy's face, he managed to fold his arms at them. "What if we happen to like each other?"

Damon wrinkled his nose at them. "You solve your stupid love triangle later, once we get Vick's health sorted."

"It's not stupid—"

Vicki cut him off with a laugh, "It's actually pretty stupid, Jer." She was quiet for what felt like eternity, her gaze shifting between Bonnie and Damon, before she said, "Alright. You win. I'll follow your dumbass 12 Step Plan, and if it doesn't work, I get to tell you so."

Bonnie breathed a sigh of relief as she rushed to embrace Vicki. "Good. 'Cause you're feeling pretty hungry, right? Anna got you something from the hospital."

As the girls trudged off, Jeremy had to ask as they headed back towards the gym, "The hospital? Please don't tell me it's drugs."

"Nope, just the paperwork for rehab." Damon said cheekily, brushing against Jeremy's shoulder.

Jeremy shuddered. "On second thought, you know what? I'm getting out of the drug business. If even Vicki's going to rehab, I don't want to be next."

On their way out, they passed by an empty classroom, where Stefan and Elena were talking quietly to each other by the teacher's desk. Elena was dressed in a matching school uniform, with her red-and-gold scarf tied around her waist as she leaned on Stefan for support. She even had a small wizard's wand, tucked behind her ear as she pointed out various passages to him.

Jeremy peered inside. "Were you looking for me?"

"Were being the keyword. We ran into Bonnie and Vick on our way over," Elena explained, tugging on her gray, pleated skirt as she glanced at Damon and Jeremy. "Apparently Vick's going to rehab? Or something like it?"

Damon nodded, noting how Stefan's face had darkened. "Yeah, but she'll be fine."

"What about you, Jer?" Elena's gaze shifted towards her brother, as she approached him and tightly hugged him. "I'm so, so sorry."

Even when she didn't have the whole story, she still reacted as if the entire thing were life-or-death. Damon wasn't sure if it was a testament to Elena's compassion, or just his baby sister being melodramatic as usual. Tears started to stream down Jer's face as he relaxed his guard long enough to return the hug. "I'm gonna miss her," Jeremy was saying almost inaudibly, burying himself in his sister's shoulder. "I'm gonna miss her so much, 'Lena…"

Guilt washed over Stefan's face, as his eyes grew red and puffy, before he turned towards Damon. Gently, Damon wrapped Stefan in a sideways hug as he led them out of the room and out towards the noise and lights outside. After the excitement of this evening, Damon just wanted to go home and welcome some trick-or-treaters (and maybe give the witches and warlocks more candy than the others). As they headed towards Damon's car, they passed a tall, blond man leaning against the front walls of Mystic Falls High. Damon exchanged looks with him, wondering just why the stranger was scrutinizing him so thoroughly.

Before he could ask, Stefan pulled Damon's car keys out of his brother's jacket pocket and unlocked the front doors. As they headed home, Stefan sunk further and further into his seat, until he almost blended in perfectly with the car floor. Maybe next year, Damon mused, he should've just dragged Stefan to Whitmore.

Figured. Good help was awfully hard to find these days. "I'll let him know," Damon said after a moment.

Tyler leaned back in his seat triumphantly as Stefan buried his face in his hands. "You don't know what you're asking," Stefan mumbled. "I'm gonna say ahead of time, I told you so."


	12. Chapter 12

Stefan's birthday crept up on Damon awfully fast this year. Thankfully, Damon had bought his baby brother's present well ahead of time – a first, considering he usually wrapped it hours before the kid's birthday dinner. Their relatives had even gotten into the act: Mom and Dad had shipped gifts from Italy; their cousins Stella & Morie had called a local bakery to deliver Stefan's favorite chocolate (honeycomb toffee); and even the Boston grandparents sent a package in the mail. In two days, at the stroke of midnight, Damon would surprise Stefan with a midnight treat.

For the kid's fifteenth birthday, it had been red velvet cupcakes, and the year before, he had whipped up mini tiramisu (without alcohol!). This year, Damon had to beat his record to bake something memorable – and he was pretty darn certain that he couldn't synthesize a honeycomb toffee cake. In-between visits to the basement, he had bookmarked recipes for Stefan's midnight treat. Otherwise, the kid's birthday was a low-key event.

Damon would spare his brother some eternal torment for a night, instead lavishing attention on him like it was going out of style. Stefan always requested the same damn thing, anyhow: a quiet family dinner with chocolate cake for dessert. Family members alternated, depending on the year. If they were in Memphis, Stella & Morie would shower him with affection and glittery presents, and if they were up in Boston, the grandparents treated them to dinner and cannolis in the North End. Stefan never complained, even when he couldn't get the glitter out of his hair for _weeks_ afterwards _._

_(_ Damon had laughed about it for just as long. "I think Edward Cullen called. He wants his sparkles back."

"Yeah, well, the 90's want their catchphrase back," Stefan had groaned, fighting the glitter stuck to his cuticles. That, Damon had wisely realized, was the end of the conversation.)

As Damon stood over the kitchen counter, flipping through recipes on his tablet, he allowed himself a sigh of relief. This was the most normal thing he'd done in weeks. When he wasn't collecting field data for his thesis, he was researching "the grand history" of Mystic Falls. He couldn't rely on Bonnie's firsthand knowledge when she was avoiding him – and frankly, he preferred it that way. Instead, he resorted to old family journals, painstakingly deciphering his ancestors' chickenscratch until Damon (inevitably) got a killer migraine.

"Goddammit, Zachariah! You can't even write your own name legibly," Damon grumbled, reaching for aspirin and water. Figures, his son never had mastered penmanship, except…

Except he wasn't Zachariah's dad. Damon winced, rubbing his temples as he forced himself to get up and swallow some water. The amber gem at his desk glowed strongly – as if rebuking him for his insolence – but he ignored it, in favor of recovering whatever sanity he had left. Maybe Nonno's grimoire would uncover more secrets than his great-great-great-great grandfather's, considering Damon could actually _understand_ his grandfather's penmanship.

Damon had only just swallowed some medicine when Elena marched through the back door, glancing over her shoulder for any signs of the younger Salvatore.

Her eyes darted around the room, and she even quietly closed the door behind her as she gave Damon her most solemn look. "Hey, are we still doing a family dinner for Stef's birthday? Since it's in two days and all?"

Damon furrowed his brow at her, half-wondering how she'd even learned of the tradition. "You want to join us?"

Elena pouted at him. "Of course. You always say we're family, so let's actually prove it this year."

Sure, he called Elena his little sister at least two times a day, and Jeremy was his second baby brother, but Dad preferred that Stefan celebrate with blood relatives. Mostly because Dad also believed that unless Stefan was marrying Elena, she wasn't truly family yet.

(Stefan had scowled at him, with brooding eyes that would've made any gothic antihero proud. "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, Papa.")

If Damon made an exception for Elena, he would have to acknowledge her presence next year and the year after that and every year until she inevitably broke up with him and Stefan would write long, angst-dripping poems about her doe-shaped eyes and the soft flutters of her eyelashes and mindless, sickening garbage that only English majors appreciated. Actually, scratch that: Stefan already wrote those.

"Uh," Damon began eloquently, holding up a finger. "Let me ask Stefan first."

Elena blew her hair out of her face, unable to hide the growing frustration in her chestnut-brown eyes. Damon couldn't blame her: as far as he was concerned, they were family. She said, rather forcefully, "If we can't do dinner, at least a lunch or something. Jeremy's been pretty mopey, ever since Vicki left town for rehab. It'll cheer him right up."

Playing the Jeremy card. If it weren't being directly used against him, Damon would've approved. As it was, he narrowed his eyes, meeting her gaze as he loomed over her and closed the distance between them.

Elena jumped up and lightly bopped his nose. "Please?" This girl really didn't take no for an answer, now did she?

He sighed. Loudly. "Fiiiine. We'll do dinner together, and then I'll do something low-key with him later."

"Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Elena pumped her fist in the air, quickly kissing his cheek before she rushed upstairs to meet her boyfriend. "You won't regret this. I promise!"

Damon could only stare blankly at her retreating figure before he laughed softly to himself. Just when he thought he had that girl figured out, she always managed to surprise him.

 

 

 

 

The rest of the morning, after hiding the necklace in the kitchen, Damon half-heartedly followed his routine. He attended his seminar, barely listening to Aunt Sheila as she explained the primary differences between a typical human brain and a differently-abled person's brain, and even dropped by his office to check in on Misao.

The night of Misao's party, Jenna had gotten an abrupt text from Logan – the kind that couldn't bode well – and so he had to rush home, hastily thanking Misao and her boyfriend Shinchi for their hospitality. Instead of the typical craziness he expected from his coworker, she had shaken her head, insisting that Damon's friend's happiness mattered more than their presence at her office gathering. ("Oh, and by the way, can you get some chocolate for the office?") For once, that crazy girl had a reasonable request, so he figured he could humor her.

After he wrapped up his work, Damon headed back to Mystic Falls to run some last-minute errands. By Wednesday, they usually ran out of paper towels, and yet, he kept forgetting to buy extra on his weekly trips.

As he approached the parking lot, Bonnie was casually lying on the roof of his blue Camaro, her feet dangling precariously above his windshield. Her face was obscured by these ridiculously large sunglasses that covered her cheeks as well as her eyes, and Damon was half-tempted to rip them off then and there. Instead, he folded his arms, tapping the pavement impatiently as he glanced up at her. "Well?"

"Your roof's a nice place to sunbathe," she said nonchalantly, sliding her sunglasses down to look at him better.

He snorted. "In November?"

She hopped down, standing so close to him that he could hear her heightened heartbeat. "Okay, so maybe I just want your necklace."

Now that sounded more like the Bloodsucker he had come to know and hate. Damon snorted, pulling out his car keys and holding them firmly in-between his fingers. "Maybe if you say pretty please."

"Come on, Damon. I'm actually trying to help you here." She gazed at him softly, as if he were the only person in the entire parking lot. If he believed the illusory warmth in her green eyes, he truly mattered to her – except he didn't, so he had to marvel at her skilled acting. No wonder bloodsuckers enjoyed the hunt so much, if they could emote so convincingly.

Resisting the urge to pop her blood vessels, he leaned against his car door. "Do you just sunbathe on every guy's car, or are you just married to mine?"

"You're going to want my help eventually, Salvatore. You know why?" She stood on her tiptoes, reaching for his hairline and gently running her hands through them. "You've stumbled into something you need to stumble out of."

"I can stumble out of it myself, thanks." He broke free from her, unlocking his car and tossing his plastic bags in the back.

Bonnie's tongue was especially biting. Time must've wounded it, over and over again, forcing his baby bird to—to what? Damon grimaced, pressing the bridge of his nose. Bloodsucker was most definitely _not_ his baby bird, nor did he have much sympathy for her. Hastily, he reached for his door handle.

She coolly said, "So you _don't_ want me getting Giuseppe off your back, huh?"

He froze. "You knew?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "I know a lot of things, like how I know more about that talisman than you do, and I know that he's using it to mind control you."

Talisman…? This stupid necklace was a talisman? No wonder his thoughts felt so jumbled lately, as if he were thinking in three different languages (as opposed to his usual two, of English and Italian). Damon pictured the talisman, floating away from its hiding spot, and moaned almost inaudibly. How had he missed those blindingly obvious signs? Bonnie continued, lightly pressing her finger against his chest, "Next time he comes out to play, you tell him that a deal's a deal. I'm keeping my end of the bargain."

Without another word, she slid her sunglasses back on and sulked over to her grandmother. Damon reluctantly climbed into the driver's seat, glancing back at Bonnie's shadow before he revved up the engine. Okay, so he knew that slaves held lingering resentment towards their owners, but did she want bloody revenge? ("No, she didn't," his brain – or rather, Giuseppe Sr. tried to reassure him.) Damon didn't exactly sign up for a supernatural horror film, and he wasn't going to star in one tonight. If his grimoire didn't have the answers he sought, the basement surely would.

 

 

 

 

Instead of his usual cup of tea, Damon brewed something stronger – English Breakfast with vervain – before curling up with his grandfather's (photocopied) grimoire from the basement. He had wanted to melt the necklace down, but the amber was far too valuable to simply melt it in the kitchen. He would have to wait until he had a second opinion – namely, one that wasn't his kid brother's. Before Jenna and Elena arrived, to help with dinner preparations, the brothers decided to move the necklace underneath their backyard shed.

Stefan had knelt down on all-fours, hammering the floorboards so the necklace couldn't escape as Damon explained the basics to his kid brother.

"I should've suspected it was a warlock's talisman earlier," Damon was saying with a groan, folding his arms as he observed Stefan. "Wizards use talismans to enhance their powers. It's kind of like… like a supernatural pick-me-up. That's probably why your spells were crazy powerful for your first time."

("Not really," his brain interjected. "Stefan and Thomas were exactly the same. My power wouldn't have affected my descendant so.")

Thomas? The name didn't sound familiar, and Damon had read far too much about his ancestors in the past month. He jumped back, nearly brushing against the walls of the shed.

Stefan whistled softly. "Huh." Ignoring Damon's near injury, he stared down at the floorboards – the glowing floorboards – before he moved onto the Persian rug. "And you think Great-Granddad was using it to communicate with you?"

"I _know_ he's using it to talk to me. In my dreams, no less. Our dear ancestor dropped me off in the middle of Fell's Church – that old ruin – at an ungodly hour this morning." Damon folded his arms, testing the durability of Stefan's carpentry with a simple levitation spell. He snapped his finger, watching as the talisman floated inches above the ground. However, no matter how much force Damon applied to the talisman, it couldn't escape. "At first, I thought it was my subconscious, but my shadow self wouldn't have been this crazy."

Stefan laughed softly, despite the fear that almost permanently resided in his eyes. "So _that's_ where you were. What's our game plan?"

"I melt the necklace tomorrow. But before then, I need to finish reading Nonno's grimoire and figure out why Bennett wanted this stupid thing."

Jenna and Elena had entered through the back door then (Jeremy had had a 'play date' with another girl, and Elena hadn't been keen on interrupting it), so they had to curtail their conversation.

As Damon had suspected, Giuseppe's actual grimoire wasn't within easy reach. Nonno – Kieran Salvatore – had written that Giuseppe entrusted his grimoire with his true love, and only she held the secrets to their family's magic. Damon rubbed his temples, leaning on the sofa as he continued to read. "So if I head to Giuseppe's wife's grave, maybe it'll be right there…."

"If you head where?" Jenna's voice piped up, as she smoothly maneuvered around him to pour herself some water.

Elena stood nearby, preparing one of the desserts for Stefan's birthday dinner tomorrow. She merely tilted her head at Damon, in-between adding strawberries on top. "Probably back to the lab. He's doing research, right?"

Damon nodded noncommittally as he pulled out the photos he had grabbed from the basement and held them side-by-side with the portraits in Nonno's grimoire. Nonno said that Giuseppe wrote frequently about three women – his dear, devoted fiancée (and wife-to-be); his handmaiden Bonnie Bennett; and the poor orphan Katherine Pierce who joined their household in the aftermath of Sherman's March. As he skimmed a paragraph on Katherine, he saw her portrait, neatly clipped to her biography.

Of course, Stefan picked that exact moment to lean on Damon's shoulders. " _Shit."_ The kid's gaze immediately fell on his girlfriend, refusing to look elsewhere as she obliviously placed the finishing touches on her cheesecake.

Damon followed his brother's line of sight. Hastily, he held the second old photo up to the light. The other girl – the one on Giuseppe's arm – could have been Elena's long-lost sister, save for the curls surrounding her face.

"Um, yeah," Stefan said, hiding his surprise with a cough as he turned the page.

Elena laughed, muffling her amusement with her hand. She was almost the perfect mirror image of this dead girl, save for her straight hair and modern clothes. (Or maybe, Damon thought bitterly, the dead girl was _Elena's_ perfect mirror image.) "Damon's thesis is kicking his butt, isn't it? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"The perils of grad school," Jenna said with a sigh as she observed them. "When you're not working, you're studying. Your thesis becomes your frigging life if you're not careful."

"Or even if you are," Damon said absentmindedly, turning the pages of Kieran's grimoire. "It's still your entire life."

Stefan scribbled, on a separate post-it note, _Why does Elena look like an orphan girl? They're not related._

Damon shrugged helplessly, tucking the photos back in the grimoire before he handed it over to Stefan. _Hell if I know_ , he had scribbled as a reply. As he reached for his leather jacket, he slung it over his shoulder.

Jenna eyed him warily, holding up a certain amber necklace with her fingers as she said, "Speaking of your life, did you mean to bring this?"

Damon shivered, involuntarily reaching out for it. "Where did you find it?"

"It was in your leather jacket." She tilted her head slightly at him. "Is it a present? You should've told me you had a girl."

Stefan stared at it, wide-eyed, ready to explain, when Damon hastily interrupted, "There's no girl."

Quickly, Damon shook his head, closing the grimoire and putting the jacket back on. The exhaustion was overwhelming him. The sooner he got to bed, the better. He was so certain that he had tested that talisman against levitation spells! It should have remained put! "Or guy. You would've been the first to know."

Jenna triumphantly leaned on Elena's shoulders. "Ha! See? I told you his love life was deader than mine."

Scumfell, according to the dumbass texts he had sent Jenna, had abruptly asked her for a break while he 'got his act together.' Scumfell was also going to get his ass kicked into next Tuesday, once Damon burned that stupid necklace.

"How many broken bones do you think he'll have, when I'm done with him?" Damon murmured, gripping the necklace in his palm. It jumped in his palms, nearly sizzling against his skin. Electricity pulsed through his veins, as his brain swelled, as if making room for someone else-

"Damon? Damon?" Stefan screamed as he shook Damon's shoulders viciously. "Hey, hang in there!"

That was the last thing Damon clearly remembered, before the fog settled into his brain.

 

 

 

 

 

His descendant was such a foolish boy. Zachary should've taught his eldest better, to steel his boys' minds and hearts from familial temptations. Stefan – young, sweet Stefanizo – was still clinging to his shoulders, screaming to high heaven for an older brother that could no longer hear him.

"I'm alright," he managed to say, lightly squeezing Stefan's hand as he regained his composure, standing straighter than Zachary's boy had. Good posture, it seemed, was a long-discarded virtue. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I must go."

If he hastened his pace, he could destroy the crystal before Annabelle could steal it from his family.

Damon's lady friend – the loud one, with red hair that matched her temperament - had inquired, "Where are you going?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Back to where it all began. Annabelle must not obtain it. It must be destroyed."

As he opened the door, he could hear young Stefan groan in anguish. "Oh god. Giuseppe!" So maybe Zachary had taught _one_ of his boys well.

"Giuseppe?" Stefan's lady friend (the one who so strongly resembled Katherine) reached out for Giuseppe's hand. He squeezed through the gap between the door and outside, breathing a sigh of relief as he hung the gem again around his neck. If Zachary's oldest boy were to adorn necklaces on his person every day like a lady, he should have worn one with some power embedded in it. Not this silly lion's head that just scratched his fine talisman's glass.

Stefan had yelled, "I'll explain later!" He rushed after Giuseppe, with a speed that almost matched that of vampires. "But right now, we've gotta head to the old church. Come on!"

Giuseppe pressed onwards, ignoring the crunch of leaves underneath his feet with every pounding step he took. If he were to defeat Bonnie – his dear, sweet Bonnie – and prevent her and Annabelle from releasing the deathly creatures in that tomb, he mustn't waste a single second.

He had only just arrived at the ruins, inhaling sharply at the devastation that he had once left in his wake, when a young man attempted to press against his neck. This stranger, the one Damon called 'Scumfell', had sneering, black eyes and a firm – yet cold – gentleman's grip.

"Hello, Salvatore. Where do you think you're going?"

Giuseppe calmly met the vampire's gaze, popping brain vessels lodged firmly in the young man's skull. He howled, staggering back long enough for Giuseppe to roll up his sleeves and summon fire from his fingertips.

"I don't have time for you, Mr. Scumfell."

"Mr?" Now the young man stared bemusedly at Giuseppe, his veins protruding so prominently on his face that it was impossible to mistake him for any other species. "The hell?"

"You have two options. First, you move, and I turn a blind eye for my grandson's sake," Giuseppe held up the fire, nurturing it in his hands until it almost encased his entire body. From what he recalled, young Damon had attempted to save this ingrate's life. "Or I end your existence. Your choice, Mr. Scumfell."

Mr. Scumfell held up his hands in defeat. "Since when were you so heartless?"

"Since you became a coldblooded monster," Giuseppe calmly replied, scrutinizing this young man carefully. It had to have been recent, for young Damon to have not acknowledged a fourth vampire's presence.

Mr. Scumfell cocked his head, smiling as only a creature of the Underworld could. "Oh, this? It happened just a couple of days ago _._ Anna said if I wanted to be Spike so badly, I should just go all the way. I help her open the tomb, get her mom, kill the rest, and look like a frigging town hero. I figure, two vampires could make a great team."

"You want… to be Spike?" Giuseppe squinted at him. The children of this century carried themselves so confidently, and yet spoke so strangely that they might as well have shared a different language. The rest of the young man's plan made little sense: if he opened the tomb for one demon, he would have opened the tomb for all. "I'm sorry, I don't follow."

"Damon, don't give me that BS. You've seen every episode of Buffy. I know you."

"No, you really don't." Giuseppe lunged forward, tossing the fire squarely inside the young man's heart. Mr. Scumfell screamed in anguish, falling to his knees and rolling around to quench the fire clinging to his too-tight shirt and trousers.

Before Mr. Scumfell could rise, his sweet Bonnie impaled the young man with a sharp stake. "There," she said firmly, pushing the body aside. "I _told_ you you couldn't stumble out of this your-"

Even when she was upset, her entire face glowed so radiantly that the sun couldn't hold a candle to her flame. Giuseppe laughed so warmly, struggling to rein himself in as he observed her tossing the stake alongside it. "Bonbon."

Bonnie's entire body went rigid. "Giuseppe."

Solemnly, he stuffed his hands in his descendant's too-small denim pockets. "I can't let you open the tomb."

"Funny, because I don't want to."

His heartbeat had spiked up so dangerously that it almost ripped out of his ribcage. "You… you don't?"

"I can't protect everyone from Katherine if it opens," Bonnie was saying, stepping closer to him. "I just _can't_. Give Damon his body back, Giuseppe. I protected your family! I lived up to your end of the bargain!"

She had never intended to open the tomb. She had never intended to relinquish the twenty-seven vampires from their self-imposed hell. No, only Annabelle had wanted to free them. Giuseppe's throat tightened. He should have… he should have never believed the rumors that Miss Katherine had told him, because none of them had ever come to fruition.

"I know that now. I'm so sorry, Bonbon." Salty tears were streaming down his face as he stepped forward and intertwined his hands in hers. Her touch was far colder than he remembered. No imitation of human emotion could replace the warmth that had once resided in her palms, just as it couldn't replace the gentle, soothing tone her voice had once had.

Dear Bonnie's eyes were welling with tears as she stared down at their hands. Silence threatened to creep in and engulf the old church ruins.

Giuseppe craned his head as he heard two sets of footsteps approaching. Stefan's lady friend hastily rushed to them, only to stop upon her feet touching the remains of Mr. Scumfell's body. "Stefan! Oh my god, Stefan, that's _Logan."_

Young Stefan gasped, holding onto his lady friend tightly. "I-I know, Elena. Hang on."

She wailed, falling to her knees as she dared to touch the black veins protruding from his face. "What happened to him? Why does he look like this?"

Her childlike innocence reminded him of Bonnie – the memory of the handmaiden he had admired so deeply. Giuseppe held a hand to the sky, forming fire in a pentagon shape that sizzled around him and Bonnie, threatening to consume anything that dared to step forward.

"Someone burned him," Stefan was saying softly, shushing her as he rocked her gently in his arms. "It'll be okay, Lena."

"Did Damon...?"

"No." Stefan's voice was firm. "Damon's not in control of his own body right now." He clung to his lady friend tighter, pulling her back towards the lone stone wall as Mr. Scumfell's body was engulfed by the flickering flames.

"Why're you sorry?" Her voice was quiet, so deathly quiet that Giuseppe almost didn't hear her.

If she had to ask, she was more foolish than he remembered. He inhaled sharply, struggling to find the proper words to convey how he had always felt… "I cared for you, and I couldn't do a damn thing to protect you from Katherine. She sunk her teeth in you before I even got the chance to tell you how much you mattered to me."

"You… what?"

Almost ashamedly, he said, "I loved you, Bonnie, more than Katherine. I always had."

Bonnie's eyes widened as she closed the distance between them and pressed her lips forcefully against his. Giuseppe stared at her breathlessly, at the woman entangling herself in him as if the world were about to end. Her lips tasted like sweet citrus as she slid her tongue towards his, lightly brushing against it as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She clung to him so passionately that her veins had prominently protruded under her black eyes, releasing any illusions of her (human) nature.

Fire roared all around them as he quietly explored her shoulders and arms, tasting her glowing, tantalizing skin. She writhed at his touch, craning her neck ever-so-slightly with each little kiss. He turned his head to the side when she returned the affection. She hesitated, upon reaching the nape of his neck.

"Go on." He whispered. "He'll be okay, my love."

She obeyed, lightly brushing against his neck and biting into it. Despite her incision, no blood leaked from his skin. "Destroy it," she murmured, her silky voice almost dissolving into the fog. "Anna doesn't know I have your grimoire."

He nodded, wobbling as she jumped out of the fire's reach. Tossing the pendant into the sky, he murmured, "Incendia," and watched as it shattered into a million pieces.

She kissed him again, entangling herself in him as the sky burned.

 

 

 

 

 

Damon collapsed against the cold stone floor of the ruins, staring blankly at the charred circle around him.

"The hell…?" Involuntarily, he stared at the pentagram underneath him, rubbing his sore neck as he scrutinized every last detail of the old church ruins. Bonnie was staring at him desolately, with tears in her eyes as he tried (and failed) to rise to his feet. "What just happened?"

Elena shakily leaned on Stefan as they approached him. "That's what I'd like to know."

 

 

 

 

The ride back had been silent, prompted mostly by Damon's growing dizziness. Every so often, he would stare at Bonnie's lips, imagining their citrusy taste and wondering how he _knew_ she tasted like oranges. Plus, his head was pounding like a _bitch_ , and he couldn't exactly remember the last few hours. Great. Not only had Giuseppe taken control, but he had also decided to keep those memories for himself.

Bonnie, for the most part, had just looked out the window.

"Sorry," Damon had apologized to her softly, knowing she could hear every word.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Bonnie had said, resting her hand underneath her chin.

He snorted. "I didn't listen to you. Giuseppe totally got the best of me, and while I don't know what happened, I figure, I should've heard you out."

She finally turned to face him, with red, puffy eyes that didn't match her usual confidence. "I said, it's okay, Salvatore."

Not another word had passed their lips until they reached the Manor. The second they climbed out of the car, Damon collapsed onto the sofa on their front porch. He leaned forward, holding his head in his hands as he stared at the wooden floor.

"Stefan said that you guys aren't human." Elena's voice grew quiet as she sat down beside him, reaching over to scratch his back. (He couldn't deny how comfortable it felt.) "How long have you… um, I mean… were you always…?"

"Not always." Damon's pounding headache had also returned with a vengeance. Concentrating on Elena's voice – on the fear that colored her – he sighed softly. "Stefan's powers developed a couple of months ago, and I've been a wizard for the past nine years."

Nine incredibly long years, each bringing a challenge worse than the one before it. Damon dared to ask, "How much did Stefan tell you?"

"Enough." Her arms shook violently as she continued to scratch his back. "Damon, why didn't you tell me? You didn't trust me?"

"He didn't want to worry you." Stefan returned from inside, with a tray of hot peppermint (and vervain-free) tea for everyone. Damon, however, got a cup of water first. As he handed it to Damon, he elaborated, "From what I can tell, he's been fighting the supernatural by himself for that long… and the only reason we know is because of me."

(There was no reason to implicate Mason right now. Mason was in Florida, with his new girlfriend, and Damon didn't want to entangle anyone else in this web of lies and secrets.)

"And me," Bonnie added quietly, taking a mug of peppermint tea. "If Anna and I didn't return home, you wouldn't have been in this mess."

There were a few seconds of silence, as Stefan poured everyone tea, before Elena said, "It must've hurt a lot, Day, if you were fighting so fiercely. These don't look like new scars."

He shrugged, trying to ward off the headache with a healing spell. "You get used to it."

"Damon!"

Damon laughed, shaking his shoulders as he finished his glass of water. The headache was lessening, the more he simply sat there and listened to his family talk to each other. "What? Elena, you don't have to be part of this world. You don't have any powers."

She unflinchingly stared straight into his eyes. "You called me Katherine."

"I… did?" Damon scrunched his face, trying to recall the last few hours. Nothing came to mind, beyond the photographs of the orphan girl in Nonno's grimoire.

Bonnie squirmed. "Yes, you did. Giuseppe thought she was standing right there, but he wasn't thinking straight."

"Because Katherine's dead?" Elena asked hopefully, turning to face Bonnie.

Stefan furrowed his brow, staring into his mug. "Because you look a lot like her, and we don't know why."

"Maybe I'm related to her. The Gilberts go way back too, you know," Elena said with a shrug. She lowered Damon's shirt, gently rubbing his shoulders for a few more seconds.

"You say it so calmly," Damon noted, motioning for her to stop. "You sure you're okay?"

She frowned. "As okay as I can be. I just found out my boyfriend's a wizard, my older brother's one too, and my new friend's a vampire, so you know, I'm… dealing."

Bonnie glanced down at her watch. "It's getting late, and we've got school tomorrow, so… how about I drive you back?"

"Okay. Thank you, Bonnie, for everything." Elena approached Stefan, lightly brushing her lips against his before she headed off to Bonnie's car.

Damon and Stefan waited for them to leave before they headed inside. Damon raced to the mirror in their guest bathroom, peering at his reflection and at the tiny scars on the nape of his neck. He sniffed, faintly recognizing the new citrus scent along the collar of his leather jacket.

Wait. Did Bonnie…. _No._ She couldn't have, because Giuseppe hated vampires. He had wanted them all dead. He had held no remorse for them, especially after they had taken his favorite handmaiden from them. There was no feasible way that they had kissed. He would've remembered that sensation for sure.

Damon slowly, carefully tapped two fingers against the new scars. " _Heal."_

The discoloration gave way to his natural undertones, erasing any trace of Bonnie's violation. Damon craned his head, watching as the incision disappeared from his skin. In the corner of the mirror, Stefan was leaning on Damon's door frame with folded arms and a furrowed brow.

"Are… are you okay?" Stefan ventured to say, once their eyes met in the safety of the mirror.

Damon's throat tightened. "I think so. Did we just leave Logan's..."

"I couldn't think of anything else to do." Stefan's voice sounded weary as he leaned against the wall. "Anna had turned him, Damon. No wonder Giuseppe burned him, but I wonder... Why did the necklace possess you? I had it longer, and technically, you're stronger than me. You should've been able to resist him."

Under normal circumstances, Damon would have agreed. With the comet's arrival, the talisman's power had amplified significantly, bestowing Stefan with a higher level of magic than what most beginners could hope to achieve. Those amplified powers had – probably – warded Giuseppe off, whereas Damon's mind had been frazzled from stress and exhaustion.

"I don't know," Damon said after a moment. It was the damn truth.

Theoretically, Stefan was just growing into his power, versus Damon, who was long aware of his limits and possessed enough consciousness to thwart anyone worming into his heart. Theoretically, Stefan should've succumbed to Giuseppe's call. Theoretically, this conversation would've been reversed, with Damon consoling his younger brother.

The clock struck eleven. Damon cursed under his breath, turning to the door. "I've only got an hour before—"

"Before what? My birthday?" Stefan raised his voice, placing himself between Damon and the door. "You're more important than that."

Gently, Damon lowered his head and kissed Stefan's brooding forehead. "Don't worry so much. It provokes wrinkles."

He didn't have much time. Tiramisu – his go-to – was out of the question, as was a freshly-baked batch of brownies. With Stefan protectively hovering over his shoulder, he couldn't surprise the damn kid either.

So he reached for some flour, some eggs, some butter, a few other ingredients, and a witches-hat cookie cutter (left over from Halloween). In about fifteen minutes, he had whipped up a perfect batch of witches-hat pancakes. Carefully, he slid them on the plate before a confused Stefan, surrounding the plate with tea candles.

"Make a wish," Damon said, just as the clock chimed midnight.

Stefan rolled his eyes, and yet he leaned forward and blew out the candles anyway.

"Care to tell me what it was?"

Stefan's eyes twinkled as he reached for a fork and knife. "If I do, then it won't come true." He cut a pancake in half, holding it out in front of Damon's lips. "Come on, you've gotta taste-test it first."

Damon snorted, opening his mouth as Stefan fed him spoonfuls of his own cooking. While this wasn't quite what he pictured for his kid brother's seventeenth birthday, he also had to admit: this had been the most memorable one yet.


	13. Chapter 13

Stefan's birthday dinner had gone without a single hitch: a small miracle, considering Damon's lethargy post-crazy ancestor possession. He'd even called in sick at work (which he rarely did, because Misao and Wes were _crap_ without him), leaving leftover pancakes  & fruit for Stefan's big birthday breakfast.

His kid brother had shaken his head lightly, leaving Damon a text:

You didn't have to. Get some sleep, you earned the day off. :)

On his brother's seventeenth birthday? The one day where he could shamelessly embarrass the kid, all in the name of good-natured love? Damon scoffed at the idea, instead channeling all of his energy into the best birthday dinner the kids (and Jenna) had ever eaten. Jenna and Jeremy arrived about an hour beforehand – and Elena even earlier to deliver Stefan's presents – with the desserts they'd made a couple of days ago.

"I figured, if cheesecake's the one thing I can make…" Jenna laughed sheepishly, setting it on the counter. "Hey Day, you were acting _super_ strange yesterday. Was everything okay?"

"Not really." Damon yawned, hiding his sleepiness behind his hand as he glanced at her. "I think I had some kind of mental breakdown from my research."

He could barely keep track of how often he lied to her, considering he could form them without a second thought. Surely, at this point, she suspected something. She had to, because the lies kept building on one another, creating some surreal alternate universe where the supernatural didn't interfere with their lives. ("We need to tell her," Mason had said during their last Skype call. "I don't know when, man, but soon, because it sounds like things back home are only gonna get crazier.")

"Oh." Jenna pursed her lips, staring down at her balled-up hands before allowing her fingers to uncurl. "Is this one of those 'I'd tell you, but then you wouldn't believe me' things?"

When he nodded, she could only stare at him with that stupid pitiful look before rushing to embrace him. Sometimes, he wondered if he sucked as a best friend. Had their roles been reversed, he wasn't certain if he would've trusted Jenna so blindly – he would've needed an explanation, not some half-assed answer that barely scratched the surface of the truth.

Before she let go, she whispered, "Don't worry me like that, okay? I swear, I'm gonna get the truth out of you eventually." (Now _that_ was the Sommers he had come to know and love.)

Jeremy scowled at them, finally glancing up from his laptop and science textbook. "Could you have a touching moment elsewhere? This quiz's timed."

Damon stared blankly at him. "Since when did you do your homework? On time, even?"

"Beats me. I think we're dealing with some alien lifeform," Jenna mused, reaching for the electric tea kettle. "What do you think?"

"Clone. Maybe a twin from a parallel dimension? The possibilities are kind of endless."

Jeremy's scowl only worsened as Damon and Jenna exchanged amused glances and burst into (obnoxiously loud) laughter.

Saved by the kid's sudden desire to excel in academia. While it was bad enough that Elena had discovered the truth through Scumfell's crisp remains, Jeremy and Jenna didn't deserve that heavy burden. Not when they were starting to get their lives back on track. Damon couldn't remember the last time he saw Jeremy's determined gaze or the twinkle in Jenna's eyes – and for a second, he etched the memory into his brain, because he didn't know when he'd next see it.

He had scoured the newspapers and news channels this morning, seeking obituaries or death notices for the beloved newscaster. Giuseppe – using his body – had forever silenced Scumfell, when Damon had desperately tried so hard to keep that bastard alive. Goddammit Scumfell. For once, couldn't he have remained oblivious? Like Jeremy?

Once the kid had finished his homework, Damon and Jenna served dinner. Although Elena fidgeted far too much, and Jenna burnt the hot water _again_ , dinner tasted great, and Jeremy, Elena, and Stefan entertained them with stories about Mr. Saltzman, the new History teacher.

"He's a pretty great guy," Jeremy had admitted, digging into the salad with more gusto than usual. "I have to write an extra credit paper for him to boost my grade, but the only problem is finding something _to_ write about. It's gotta be local, and I can't use Wikipedia."

"What about our family? If it's something local, you've got great primary sources at home," Jenna suggested.

Damon nodded in agreement. "You could deal with any decade, from the time Mystic Falls was founded to even the 80's. The Gilberts were crazy-dedicated to writing everything down."

("Hey!" Elena had tried to protest, only stopping when Stefan pointed out that Damon meant crazy _dedicated_ , not crazy crazy. Sheesh, Lena, context is everything.)

"Huh. I guess that's true," Jeremy said, tapping his fork against his cheek. "I'll ask him and see if that works."

After the last dishes were cleared, the lovebirds approached Damon in the den. Jeremy had asked Jenna for some help on another History assignment ("Come on, you minored in it in college!" "Yeah, in _World_ History…."), so Damon could listen to his kid siblings uninterrupted.

"Hey, so about last night…" Elena sat down on the couch across from Damon, reaching for his tablet.

Damon leaned out of her reach, setting the tablet aside to look at them better. While he was so tempted to crack a bad sex joke at their expense, their hardened eyes told him otherwise.

"What about last night?" Damon warily said, as Stefan sat down next to Elena, resting on her shoulder comfortably. "Besides, you know, the fact that you found out we're not human?"

"That's exactly it." Elena sighed, idly turning over the silver necklace around her neck. It faintly glowed purple in her hands _,_ though neither she nor Stefan had noticed as she said, "I keep thinking, if you're a wizard and I didn't know this whole time… are there other things? Like, is our town some kind of Hellmouth?"

"I hope not." Damon scrunched his face, leaning forward. (Maybe introducing her to the wonderful world of supernatural television wasn't the best idea.) "It's usually pretty quiet. Bennett and Anna are the worst we've dealt with."

Stefan tilted his head. "We?"

"Uh, yeah. We." Damon had honestly been thinking about Mason – his partner in crime – and yet, if he said anything about the Lockwoods, he would implicate another family into this tangled web. It was bad enough that Elena had learned about the Bennetts and the Salvatores in one night. "You and me, baby bro."

"So what do they want?" Elena's voice had grown almost inaudible. "I mean, why were you acting so strange and—"

"My great-times-who-the-hell-knows-grandfather decided to steal my body." Damon wrinkled his nose at the thought. "I don't remember a single thing, though I'd kind of like to."

"Wait, so you don't…" Stefan trailed off, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Nothing?"

Damon raised an eyebrow at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Focus!" Elena coughed loudly, distracting Damon thoroughly as her (glowing, purple) necklace brushed against her cardigan. Hm. His protection ward on her should've faded a long time ago – unless Stefan had cast some kind of spell on it? When did his brother get skilled at those?

"Right," Damon said, cautiously watching the necklace as its glow faded in and out. "Anna's trying to open some tomb-thing, and Bloodsucker Bennett's here to make sure she doesn't. Beyond that, I have no effing idea."

He had listened carefully to conversations, trying to pinpoint methods or spells that would lead him to the answers he sought – and yet nothing had risen from the jumbled mess of notes that Giuseppe had left. The damn bastard had only left one sentence on Damon's tablet:

_Bonnie has the answers._

Great, except Damon trusted the girl as far as he could throw her (which, without magic, wasn't very far). "I don't know where the tomb even is-"

The ruins of the old church reverberated in his memory. Huh. Maybe he _had_ known all along, and he hadn't the sense to piece the clues together yet. He reached for his phone, hastily jotting a reminder for himself in his notes.

"Anna?" Stefan folded his arms, peering at Damon's phone. "Who's she?"

"Bennett's homicidal BFF. I'm surprised she hasn't dropped by school yet," Damon said absentmindedly, half-distracted by his own jumbled memories. "Or maybe she has, and the memo never reached me."

"I think we'd know," Elena said slowly, glancing over at Stefan. "But we'll keep an eye out for her. It's not like new people wander into Mystic Falls every day."

If newcomers kept wandering in and out of town, Damon had to wonder about their sanity. For a small town in Virginia, Mystic Falls sure had a strange influx of arrivals. With the limited job opportunities nearby Whitmore provided, it shouldn't have the economic means to support these people and yet – and yet here they were. At least with Jeremy's new teacher, they had purposefully sought out a replacement.

"When should we tell Jenna?" Stefan gestured towards them, leaning against the couch.

Damon stared down at his wristbands. "Let me handle that," he said, almost hoarsely as he focused on the simple action of tugging on them, changing the order in which they lay on his wrist. "In the meantime, don't tell her or Jeremy anything. The less they know, the better we can protect them."

Elena clutched her necklace tightly. "Does it get easier?"

"Does what get easier?"

"This whole… lying to people stuff, Damon. Keeping them in the dark about the truth and hoping that maybe it'll go away if you fight long enough. Does it get easier?"

He should have said no. No, it doesn't get easier. His brain – and his heart – had grown numb to the unsteady foundation of lies. Except Elena was too young and innocent to begin that foolish game. So he steadied his shoulders, plastering on a false smile that didn't quite reach his eyes as he gazed up at her.

"Yeah," he said, almost unflinchingly. "It does."

Although Elena breathed a sigh of relief, kissing him on the cheek before she rushed to Jeremy's side, Stefan's shoulders tensed.

Once she was out of hearing range, Stefan muttered, "You almost had me there."

"We weren't supposed to drag her into this mess. The least we can do is make her feel better about it."

Stefan opened his mouth to argue, right before Jenna hollered, "Hey, guys? Does anyone want tea?"

"That's my cue," Damon said, hopping to his feet and lightly ruffling Stefan's hair as he rushed back into the kitchen. "Come on, bro – teatime waits for no one."

Stefan flinched at his brother's touch, stepping back with a look of befuddlement before turning towards the dining table. "Yeah, but the truth? That could wait?"

It had to. Unless Stefan intended to burden Elena with a life she didn't deserve, the truth could wait another night. Plus, Damon didn't have all the pieces – and until he solved the puzzle of why the hell Anna wanted to open a dumb tomb underneath a church ruin (and why the orphan girl from 1864 was her long-lost identical twin), he wasn't going to drag her any further down the rabbit hole.

Bennett, on the other hand, was too far gone into Wonderland. If Giuseppe said that the stupid bloodsucker had the answers, then Damon supposed, he had to drag his heels and ask her for the full story.

 

 

 

The next morning, after Damon had dropped Stefan off at school, Bloodsucker Bennett was sitting on one of the nearby picnic tables. As he approached her, he noticed the cell phone held closely by her ear.

"Thanks, Lexi. I really, _really_ appreciate all you've been doing for Vicki," she was saying. A few seconds of silence – no doubt to listen to this Lexi chick – before Bennett added, "I'll try to check on her later. In the meantime, make sure she's had enough to eat?"

The second their eyes met, she abruptly hung up, rising to her feet. Before she could cross the school's threshold, Damon stood in front of her, trying to ignore the onlookers (who were undoubtedly late to school at this point). "Hey, Bloodsucker."

"Don't you have better things to do?" She scowled, blowing her hair out of her face. "Like, I don't know, your thesis?"

"Eh." He shrugged, folding his arms. "I was more interested in a story."

"A story?"

"You know, one from 1864? You, my dear great-grandfather, a poor orphan girl from Atlanta…" He whistled softly. "Otherwise, I'm going to assume the worst here."

She froze, her muscles tensing up as the veins below her eyes pulsed with – with fear? Had he hit a sore spot? "Salvatore, do we really?"

His expression softened. Some small part of him yearned to reach out and cradle her; he beat it down furiously by stuffing his hands in his pockets. Bloodsucker was one of them. She could fake emotions without a second thought, so why should he even bother—

"Yeah," he said somberly, struggling to keep eye contact with her. "I'm supposed to keep Anna's offer in mind, right? How am I supposed to do that without all the pieces?"

Bennett pressed her lips together, worriedly glancing at her wristwatch for a few seconds. Only the sound of children's footsteps could be heard, before she finally said, "Okay. I'll give you ten minutes this afternoon at your office. Surely you can spare some time after your trial."

Had she memorized his schedule already? Damon shot her a flummoxed look, but she was already rushing through the front doors. Speaking of time: if he didn't hurry over to Whitmore, he was pretty sure the trial would fall apart without him. After all, his team could only screw up the trial so many times before Augustine stopped funding them altogether.

 

 

 

 

Around 4 PM, after Misao, Wes, and Jessalyn had left for the day, Bonnie dropped by his office with two steaming mugs of tea. (Her timing was almost impeccable, because Wes had remained late to analyze blood samples – far later than usual, considering Wes also had a Ph.D. to work on.) She slid comfortably in Misao's chair, using the workbench for support as she glanced over at his laptop.

"Really? That's what our brainwaves look like?"

Damon hastily shut the laptop. "If I can get the graph to work, yeah." He then gestured towards the mugs. "What's this?"

"English Breakfast and Earl Grey. Stefan tells me it's your favorite," she said, with a devilish smile as she held up her mug in solidarity.

Damon raised an eyebrow, setting it aside as he leaned forward. "Thanks, but no thanks. So, about Giuseppe? How did you come to know him?"

"He was my master, a long, long time ago," Bennett said softly, her eyes growing wistful as she sipped from her mug. "Back when Mystic Falls was founded, my sister Emily and I were Giuseppe's personal handmaidens. Giuseppe was supposed to fight in the war, but Katherine's arrival and Giu's father's death… that changed things."

He sat up straighter. Bennett had had a _sister?_ This was the first he'd ever heard her mention her real, blood-related family. (Was that how Aunt Sheila was related to Bennett? Maybe?) "It changed a lot of things, I'm guessing."

"More than you'll ever know, Salvatore." She slid over a hand-stitched leather notebook, old and worn, into his hands. "This'll explain it more than I can." Her hands were shaking, even as he reached over and lightly rubbed her knuckles to unconsciously soothe her.

Giuseppe (that damn bastard) must've said something terrible to rattle her nerves this much. Bloodsuckers faked emotions when it best benefited them – which certainly wasn't in the middle of an empty office with only Damon for company.

Accepting the book, Damon set it aside. "So Katherine came into town… and somehow you got turned along the way?"

Bennett nodded, refusing to make eye contact as she turned her hands over and held them in the warmth of his own. "Unfortunately. When I first got here, I thought Katherine was Elena, and so I figured…"

No _wonder_ she had been scarily obsessed with Lena. Damon would've been too, if a mirror image from the 1860's had re-emerged at home, mingling at the local high school as if she had always belonged too.

Bennett took a deep breath, accidentally intertwining her fingers with his. "I didn't realize I'd trigger Stefan's magic in the process. I'm sorry, Damon. I should've left the second I realized Elena wasn't Katherine."

"Why would you think…?" Damon squinted at her. "Shouldn't she have been long-dead by now?"

Bennett laughed hollowly. "I _wish._ "

No. There was absolutely no way that Elena Gilbert – of all people – was related to a thirsty bloodsucker. Wouldn't Jonathan Gilbert have written about it? Hell, wouldn't Giuseppe himself have touched upon it, considering how much he abhorred vampires? Nonno had verbatim quoted Giuseppe in his grimoire, saying that Giuseppe had believed vampires " _are of the darkest parts of hell. They have the ability to control your mind and seduce your spirit. They are deadly, and they must be destroyed_."

Yet Giuseppe had remained suspiciously silent about his favorite handmaiden. If he could keep that secret to his dying day, Damon couldn't rule out the possibility of him knowing Katherine's bloody secret.

He must've been squirming, because Bennett squeezed his hands tightly. "Damon. Damon!"

"You have a strong grip," he said, wincing slightly as her cold touch pressed forcefully in the palm of his hands.

She sighed with exasperation as she relinquished him from her grasp. "So you see why I'm here. I can't let Anna drudge up our past."

If he were Stefan, he would've accepted her word at face-value. He would've "seen the light" and put aside his differences to work alongside her, if only because they had a common enemy. Problem was, he wasn't his brother, green and inexperienced in dealing with bloodsuckers.

Damon released her hands, going ahead and sipping some tea. "That's it? You're not going to ask Elena on a date? Or why she's related to your vampire archnemesis?"

"She's not my type." Bennett wrinkled her nose, scrunching up her entire face as if she really were a seventeen year old girl. "And I don't know why she's related to Katherine. That's what bothers me."

"A Gilbert married one of her descendants?" Damon shrugged. "I got nothing."

He had a nagging feeling in the back of his brain that something was off – because no two people looked that similar – and yet, he couldn't help ignoring it in favor of the bloodsucker sitting next to him in Misao's favorite swivel chair. If she couldn't tell him outright, then he could at least skim the old, worn journal she had painstakingly delivered to him. Surely that offered a better answer than their current conversation.

Cautiously, he opened the front cover and read, "Property of Giuseppe Salvatore."

Wait.

Giuseppe had left his grimoire with his true love, claiming that love was the strongest protector in the natural world. If Bennett had it, then… then… "Why isn't this with Giuseppe's wife?"

"Because she wasn't privy to the supernatural," Bonnie said lightly, though her green eyes were twinkling under the fluorescent lights. "Or maybe you misunderstood his affection for her."

Damon's stomach plummeted. Giuseppe had genuinely felt _something_ for the young lady sitting before him, enough to entrust her with his magic. For what felt like eternity, he couldn't speak. Not when he was…

"So when he took over my body last night…"

Bennett focused intently on her cup of tea, nearly punching a hole in the paper as he said, "Bennett? If you weren't a bloodsucker, would you have been…" Would she have been his ancestor too?

"Maybe." Bennett shrugged. "I… The future's never set in stone, and I figure, if Giuseppe was enough of an ass to take over your body, you should hear the truth from him instead of me. If you don't understand something… well, then I can spill the beans."

A light knock came at Damon's door, as Jenna's voice called, "Damon? You have a moment?"

Bonnie rose to her feet. "That's my cue. I'll see you later, Salvatore."

As she walked out, passing by a clearly bemused Jenna, Damon couldn't help tilting his head at Bennett. The more he learnt about the past, the less he understood it. Maybe history wasn't always written by the victors.

"Was that…?" Jenna gestured towards the spot where Bonnie had once been.

Damon could only nod. "She was visiting her grandma, I guess. What's up?"

"Logan ditched town." Jenna groaned loudly, nearly kicking her shoes off as she reached for Damon's tea and finished it off. "I swear, just when I think I can date a guy, he leaves me in the dust."

He… what? Damon tilted his head at her. "Huh?"

"I got an email from him a couple of minutes ago. Apparently, he decided to go to Florida to work on his tan." Wasn't going to be much of a tan, considering how ashy his skin had gotten two nights ago.

Damon nearly choked on his own saliva. "So, should we swing by the Grille for a drink?" Please don't ask for Ben & Jerry's, please don't ask…

"I was hoping you'd ask," she admitted, turning towards the door. "What better way to forget a douchebag, right?"

 

 

 

 

At least he wasn't sitting through painful rom-coms, Damon reminded himself as he and Jenna grabbed a booth at the Grille. Jenna must've found another female friend to wallow in pity with, because she hadn't once mentioned her favorite films the entire ride back. Either that, or she was still in willful denial about Scumfell's hasty exit from this world (and his grand entrance into the fires of hell. Literally).

When Matt swung by to take their orders, handing Jenna her usual beer and Damon a glass of water, Jenna said simply, "Two orders of cheese fries."

"Two?" Damon blinked back surprise. "But I don't even like them."

"Who said they were for you?" Jenna pouted, leaning on the table as Matt wandered back towards the bar.

Okay, so maybe Scumfell's sudden death had affected her more than he had imagined. Damon inwardly groaned, mentally calculating – and canceling – all of his plans, including his very hot date with his ancestor's grimoire. The supernatural could wait a night, couldn't it?

Jeremy passed by their table then, stepping back and sliding next to Damon in the booth. "I thought I saw you guys over here."

"You're not embarrassed enough to hang with us?" Jenna laughed, lightly pinching Jeremy's cheek.

Jeremy winced, leaning back to avoid her affection. "Don't make me re-think my decision."

Damon laughed, despite himself, as he wrapped his arm around Jeremy's shoulders. "Too bad. You already lost your cool points when you wandered over here."

The tall, blonde man Damon had seen also passed by, slinging a messenger bag over his shoulders as he approached their table. Jeremy called out, "Hey, Mr. Saltzman!"

Mr. Saltzman stepped forward, leaning casually on the edge of the table and prominently displaying an old ring. Damon vaguely recognized it as the same type that Anna wore around her fingers – was it vintage? "Jeremy," Mr. Saltzman said, high-fiving the kid. "What's up, man?"

"I wanted to introduce you to my family. This is my family friend and kinda big brother Damon Salvatore," Jeremy said, gesturing towards Damon, who flashed one of his typical charming smiles. "And that's my aunt Jenna."

Mr. Saltzman reached for Jenna's hand, shaking it quickly but firmly. "Alaric Saltzman. It's nice to meet you two."

Jenna laughed softly. "Jeremy was telling me about his paper the other night. Thanks for giving him another chance."

"Seriously," Damon chimed in, sitting straighter to better look at the guy. "With all the family shake-ups, it's been kinda crazy at Casa de Gilbert."

"It was my first day, and I'd heard about the car crash," Alaric admitted with a slight laugh. "I wanted to make a good impression."

"Why don't you join them?" Jeremy suggested, now sliding out of the table as he spied Stefan and Elena walking in. "You _were_ telling me that you just moved and all, and hey, my big bro's around your age…"

Damon snorted softly as Jeremy rushed towards them, latching onto Elena and dragging them towards the pool tables. "Guess he got his cool points back."

Jenna giggled, nearly snorting into her beer.

Leaning forward, Alaric watched as Matt returned with Jenna's (ridiculously large) orders of cheese fries. After the kid left, Alaric commented, "Light snack?"

"Jenna's usual break-up snack," Damon said, picking up a cheese fry and wiping off all the cheese with a nearby napkin. "An order of fries, two whole pints of Ben & Jerry's…"

Jenna kicked his shins. Hard. Damon winced, nearly dropping his fries onto the table, recovering long enough to kick her toes back.

Alaric muffled his laughter behind his hand. "I see. So, are you two from around here? Townies, I guess?"

"Born and raised," Damon said, focusing on the act of cleansing the cheese fries from their oily grave. God, even sweet potato fries would've been preferable to this. "Though we left town for college, so that makes us what? Returnees?"

Jenna nodded enthusiastically, digging straight into her orders and gesturing for Alaric to join them. "Returnees with incredibly sad love lives."

Alaric studied them for a few seconds as he reluctantly helped himself to some fries (and not, Damon noted bitterly, blotting out the oil like a civilized person). "Wait, so you two aren't…"

Damon nearly choked on his fry. " _Please._ You think she'd be eating cheese fries? And forcing me to cancel all my plans?"

Jenna protested, "I haven't forced you to—"

"You're going to." Damon shot her a glare, tempered by Matt returning with two bottles of bourbon. Casually, Damon reached over for a bottle and poured himself a glass. "I'll have to cancel my plans goodbye somewhere in-between stupid rom-com one and twenty five."

Alaric wasn't even trying to hide his laughter at this point. "Has anyone told you that you could start your own sitcom?"

"At least someone thinks I'm funny," Jenna mused, in-between bites of cheesy goodness.

Damon couldn't even deign to reply to that, instead lightly kicking her toes as he helped himself to some bourbon. "So why'd you move here, Alaric?"

"Uh… a change of pace, I guess. New scenery, and you've got a really rich history."

"A really racist history," Damon cheerfully pointed out, only for Jenna to kick his shins again. (What? He was telling the truth! Bonnie and Anna were living, breathing proof of it!)

She sighed loudly in his direction. "I am so sorry about him. But you're liking it here? Even though this is where love lives come to die?"

"Can't be worse than marrying young and my wife dying," Alaric lightly said, reaching for the other glass of bourbon.

Damon and Jenna winced simultaneously. They were all in their mid-twenties here: married couples were relatively normal. Most of Damon's college friends had announced their engagements, and if the supernatural wouldn't intervene, he would fly back up to Boston to celebrate alongside them. Problem was, a dead wife wasn't usually part of the equation.

Jenna's expression softened as she pushed the plate of cheese fries towards Alaric. "Oh wow."

"Yeah, it's a good conversation stopper." Despite his somber tone, Alaric's eyes were twinkling as he gazed back at Jenna.

Damon coughed. "So… can we ask what happened?"

Alaric said, "Well, you, me, and the North Carolina police department are all wondering the same thing. It's what's known as a cold case."

"No wonder you came here instead," Damon said, slowly fitting the pieces together as he poured himself another glass. When Alaric's wife had tragically – and suspiciously – passed away, he had moved to another state to escape the pain. The circumstances might've been unusual, but in psychology, it was a pretty typical way of coping with grief.

Humming softly, Alaric held out his glass, watching as Damon poured some for him too. "Pretty much."

Out of the corner of his eye, Damon could see Stefan schooling Jeremy at pool, even pumping his fist in the air as Jeremy mock-threatened him with the cue stick. The kids could've been a good subject change, considering they were now pretend sword-fighting with those cue sticks, if Damon felt like dragging Alaric's work into the whole situation.

"Hey, since you're new to town…" Jenna licked her lips thoughtfully. "Damon and I are kind of the only ones your age, so maybe you should stick around us, learn the ropes and stuff."

"Oh?" Alaric raised an eyebrow. "How come?"

"Well, it's either us or your co-workers," Damon pointed out, "And if your co-workers are anything like mine, they'll drive you nuts sooner or later."

"We can't have that," Alaric softly admitted, struggling to hold in his laughter. "So how long have you been friends?"

"Forever." Jenna didn't even miss a beat as she glanced at Damon. "He knows all of my deepest, darkest secrets – which, by the way, aren't pretty. He was my friend when I had braces and an A-cup."

"Glasses and a skin condition," Alaric joked back, gesturing towards his face. "I think I have you beat there."

Damon groaned inwardly. "We're not even talking about—"

"Day here was all skin and bones," Jenna teased, reaching over and flicking his nose. "You could see his rib cage when he breathed."

"I told you we weren't talking about it!" Damon vainly protested, only for Jenna and Alaric to share amused glances as they helped themselves to the remainder of their order. "I buried that with my Playstation."

"Oh, and he's still a huge geek," Jenna added, gesturing towards his necklace. "You'd never guess it, from how he dresses, but he's my little nerd."

Alaric glanced down, letting out an approving whistle. "A gunblade. _Nice."_

"God, now there's two of you…" Jenna pretended to sink further and further into her booth, just as the check arrived at their table.

Once they paid for their orders and they'd finished their last sips of bourbon, they headed outside and towards Damon's car.

"I don't live far, so I can walk home," Jenna said, gesturing towards her street. "It was nice meeting you, Alaric."

"I can walk you back," Alaric said, a little too quickly for Damon's liking.

Considering that Jenna was still healing from Scumfell dumping her – posthumously even! – Damon couldn't afford to see her broken heart again. Not when she hadn't even finished her healing ritual the second time around.

"Are you sure?" Jenna glanced at Alaric suspiciously. "Damon usually gives me a ride, but I know he's going to be busy with research."

"Yeah, yeah. I want to make sure you get home safe." Alaric turned to face Damon. "Is that okay?"

"I'm not her father." Damon rummaged in his pockets for his car keys, pulling them out and holding them up to the light as he unlocked his car. "You're digging your own grave, buddy. If she pulls out _The Notebook_ —"

"I will do no such thing," Jenna retorted, rushing over and hugging Damon before she started to walk off with Alaric. "Some traditions, I think, are meant to be broken."

As they walked off, Damon could only hope she actually meant it this time. While he was all for Jenna dating someone new, he couldn't exactly pinpoint why Alaric wasn't the perfect candidate for a rebound boyfriend. Maybe because he was also Jeremy's and Elena's history teacher? If they had a messy break-up, Jenna wouldn't exactly be the one suffering here.

Before he could yell at the lovebirds, his phone beeped with one new text from Aunt Liz:

Could you meet me tomorrow morning at my office? I've been trying to get in touch with your father all week, but this can't wait any longer – so if you could, I'll see you around 10:30 AM.

She had left a voicemail too, mentioning that Dad had grown some herbs for her, and if Damon could retrieve some for her, "We – Caroline and I, I mean – would really appreciate it if you could bring it by the office."

Damon stared bemusedly at his phone (why now? Why now, of all the stupid times in the world did the law enforcement have to realize that the supernatural existed?) as he shakily responded back:

I'll see what I can do. No promises.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a sidenote since I'm diving into the story of Bonnie, Emily, Giuseppe, Katherine, and a certain Thomas - I won't be introducing the Originals in this fic. You might be able to guess where I'm going with this, but Klaus is not a factor here!

The police precinct was unusually quiet this morning. As Damon walked past the tall, imposing glass doors that ushered him inside, he as he headed straight for Aunt Liz's office. The fluorescent lights harshly illuminated the space, giving even cluttered case files an otherworldly glow. Walking faster, Damon clutched the satchel of vervain in his hands.

In Mystic Falls, animal control had a higher budget – understandable, considering the wildlife that wandered into city limits. (Once, Damon had driven home to find a black bear sitting in his driveway. No rhyme, no reason, it was just _there._ ) Cops weren't usually equipped to handle animals, and Mystic Falls wasn't exactly a den of thieves. More often than not, bike thefts were their highest priority.

"Hey, Aunt Liz," he called as he walked into her office, closing the door and grabbing the nearest seat.

She leaned forward, giving him a thin smile. "It's good to see you, Damon."

He slid the satchel across her desk. "I brought what you asked. I hope that's enough." He had texted Mom immediately, only for her to insist on delivering the vervain to her dear friend Lizzie. (Only Mom could get away with cutesy nicknames, because Aunt Liz was most definitely _not_ a Lizzie.)

She opened it, examining the vervain against the light before she sighed of relief. "Yes, it should be. Thank you."

"Out of curiosity, why vervain specifically? Can't you use any other herb?"

If he didn't suspect something, Aunt Liz was going to suspect him, and then they would play a needlessly long game that Damon had no interest in. Better to nip this in the bud while he could.

The Founders Council must've realized that Vicki's "animal attack" was far more severe, just as they realized that Coach couldn't have snapped his neck so cleanly. The better question was, why did they cover up Scumfell's death? They had nothing to gain from insisting that he had vanished off the face of the Earth. In fact, if they revealed that he had died in a forest fire, the entire Fell family would've flown in to mourn their beloved newscaster. (Which, by the way, was going to be hard to explain to whoever replaced Scumfell.)

Aunt Liz furrowed her brow. Damon sat rigidly, resisting the urge to fiddle with his gunblade necklace. After a few seconds of awkward silence, she finally broke it with, "You mean Zach never told you about the Founders' Council?"

He tilted his head slightly. "I don't think so." Technically, Dad hadn't revealed the true nature of the Founders' Council – that, Damon had deduced from their recent (and erratic) behavior.

"Of course he wouldn't." Aunt Liz sighed, half-exasperatedly, as she gestured towards an old photograph on the wall (one with her, Dad, Mom, and Uncle Grayson). "It's not my place to say more, but Damon? If you're interested, the next meeting's coming up in a couple of nights at town hall. We'd appreciate a Salvatore there."

Damon rose to his feet, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he leaned on the door. He would never understand this town's obsession with Founding Families - why didn't they include the Sulezes? Or the Mansours? Families that had made Mystic Falls home for generations? – but this wasn't the place or time to inquire about such matters.

"I'll think about it," he said after a few seconds, pushing the door open. "You know how my thesis has been going."

"That it hasn't?" There was a twinkle in her eyes, despite the worry lines that had emerged on her face. "I'll keep an eye out for you."

He couldn't escape the precinct fast enough. On one hand, the Founders' Council would provide invaluable knowledge regarding the town – but on the other, the Council abhorred the supernatural. Joining them would surely lead to his own arrest warrant. Involuntarily, he glanced at the leather journal in his coat pocket. Maybe, what he needed right now was a good distraction.

 

 

 

After he had bought some lunch and tea from the coffee shop, Damon took a corner booth and pulled out the old, worn book Bonnie had given him. Absentmindedly, he traced his ancestor's handwriting, noting how he could easily read every word (a stark contrast from his son). Turning the page, he started from the beginning. Giuseppe explained who he was – the son of a wealthy landowner in Virginia, and that the Civil War was well under way. Most of these entries didn't catch Damon's eye: he wasn't keen on his ancestor's daily life or the unfortunate women that attempted to court the lunatic.

More importantly, this was no grimoire – no collection of spells written as if it were a magical cookbook, unlocking new skills with recipes that Damon could master. No, this was Giuseppe's chronicle of his stupid, boring life. Bennett had one-upped him, and Damon had been stupid enough to trust her.

He twitched, nearly tossing the book against the wall. "Are you _kidding_ me?"

Giuseppe was no longer in his head to taunt him or even chide him about his unrealistically low expectations. Flipping pages with a disgruntled sigh, Damon continued to read about his ancestor's (incredibly uninformative) life.

 

 

_**May 24, 1864** _

_We have added a new member into our family, dear journal: Miss Katherine Pierce, an orphan girl from Atlanta. After her family perished in the flames of Sherman's March, she had wandered the countryside with her companions Miss Pearl and Miss Annabelle. Out of the kindness of his heart, Father granted her a place at the estate. She is to stay in Thomas's old room. I understand this is the best course of action, as my elder brother has made his home elsewhere, but it is not a light decision._

(Wait, Giuseppe had a brother? What was up with these ancestors having mysterious siblings that weren't recorded in Mystic Falls' history? Damon made a mental note to look up a Thomas Salvatore later, because the name certainly wasn't passed down through various generations.)

_Miss Bonnie and I aided her in the retrieval of her few belongings. Miss Katherine is a lovely girl, and yet something uneasy stirs every time she speaks. I feel chills when our hands touch. Often, I must excuse myself from her presence.  
_

" _Master, perhaps you feel something for her," teased Miss Bonnie when I inquired her opinion of the matter. Or perhaps Miss Katherine harbors great sorrow. I do not wish to uncover the truth, so I took my leave for the evening._

"Hmph," Damon snorted, skipping past the rest of the entry. "She's a bloodsucker, you moron. You couldn't sense it from her touch?"

Giuseppe wrote frequently about the Bennett sisters, remarking about their radiant beauty and their grace and poise (while _accurate_ , Damon was far more intrigued by the drama that Katherine had wrought). Giuseppe's entries continued:

_**June 2, 1864** _

_Miss Katherine insisted on my accompaniment at her games this afternoon. I must say, she is quite skilled at croquet! She bested Father's score with little effort. What great skill! My attempts must look quite meager in comparison. After our game, Miss Bonnie said I shouldn't further my prospects in the sport. I am, as she affectionately calls, not fit for athletics like my brother. I suppose I should listen to her and leave the croquet to Father and Miss Katherine, and Thomas when he returns home. Instead, I honed my gift today, exercising caution in the stables.  
_

_No amount of caution can hide my carelessness, however. Miss Emily nearly caught me and Miss Bonnie this morning, and I fear that she will tell Father the truth. I do not wish to marry Miss Katherine._

Damon sat up straighter. That was news to him: Giuseppe wasn't attracted to Katherine?

_If we are to keep the Salvatore Estate, Father wishes me to marry someone from a respectable family. Thomas did not wish to inherit the estate, so I will be responsible for its maintenance. Miss Katherine is beloved by everyone. I understand why he has requested her hand in marriage for me. Yet I wish to accept someone else's hand. This afternoon, I requested Miss Bonnie as my own. Father acquiesced, granting me her papers. If I can elude the rather insistent Miss Katherine, I…_

Something had smudged the ink, preventing Damon from deciphering the rest of the sentence. Giuseppe ended his entry with a flourish, promising:

_To spend my life with Miss Bonnie would be a grand adventure. I promised her freedom, and Salvatores always keep their promises._

In the margins, unfamiliar handwriting had scribbled, _**Of course you do. I loved you too.**_

Shivers crawled down Damon's spine. No _wonder_ he remembered Bennett's intoxicating scent; no wonder he could hear her heart rate dangerously spiking after he had woken up on the floor of the old ruins. His crazy ancestor… his crazy ancestor had favored Bennett in a time when their relationship was far from acceptable. As he traced over Bennett's words, he released a breath he didn't know he was holding before moving onto the next entry:

_**June 5, 1864** _

_Thomas's letter arrived this afternoon. He advised me on accepting Miss Katherine's hand, and had even addressed a small note for her. Said Miss Katherine, "I was most delighted to hear his thoughts about our upcoming engagement." I wished to entertain no such thought. Surely some other family would accept her? Miss Katherine also insisted on my presence at the ball tonight. Miss Emily, Miss Bonnie, and I had had other intentions. I was most keen on practicing our gift and strengthening the connection we had forged with nature. However, Father implored me. I cannot openly disobey his word, when the entire town searches for vampires living amongst us._

_I wished to strengthen my skill to uncover their identities. Vervain alone will not unmask them, but perhaps a device could undermine their schemes. The Council disagreed with me. They believed the ball was the best method for luring them under the cover of night, so I was told to escort Miss Katherine. There, Miss Katherine wished to make love to me. I simply could not abide, so I left her in Honoria's companionship. How could she be so blind? She attempted to stare straight into my eye, ordering me to remain with her with an alluring voice that did not strike me as hers._

_When I said I had other plans, disappointment was evident. I do not understand what she had hoped to accomplish, but it would be most imprudent for her to court someone else. Miss Katherine inquired about Miss Bonnie as well. I believe she desired Miss Bonnie's services rather than Miss Emily's, but I refused. Miss Bonnie will remain with me until she no longer wishes to – and so far, she hasn't said anything to the contrary._

Katherine had seriously attempted to compel a warlock. Wow, she must've been one dumb bloodsucker. Damon squinted at the entries, going back and skimming earlier ones for other signs of the supernatural.

In late May, Giuseppe had alluded to unusual animal attacks as Miss Emily had " _encountered a young girl with violent gashes across her neck. Couldn't possibly be from a mountain lion."_ If even he doubted the excuses the police had given, then history was repeating itself. Dammit.

Better question, why did Bennett have a "connection with nature?" Vampires couldn't practice magic. Their powers didn't overlap. Out of frustration, he ran a hand through his hair. The one time he wanted to meet her in person, she was nowhere in sight. While he hadn't finished sifting through Giuseppe's journal, the unraveling story was enough to unsettle him. Bennett needed to tell him what she knew, and fast - else Anna's offer was starting to look semi-promising.

The bell of the café chimed as two customers walked in and ordered their drinks. Damon glanced up warily, and in that moment, his eyes met Bennett's.

 

 

 

 

According to Stefan, who had accompanied Bennett that afternoon, they had been organizing people for another school event. "I'd elaborate," Stefan said with a slight laugh once he arrived with another round of coffee, "But somehow I don't think you care."

"Damn right I don't." Damon hastily stuffed Bennett's book into his messenger bag, zipping it shut while his kid brother was distracted.

Except, of course, Stefan furrowed his brow at Damon. "Okay, I _know_ that wasn't for your thesis."

"You gave me his freaking diary." Damon scathingly glared at Bennett, pretending to ignore Stefan's (rude) comment. "This was _supposed_ to be Giuseppe's grimoire. Instead, you had to give me his stupid diary about all the stupid things he did every day."

"Was it? My bad." Bennett shrugged noncommittally, pushing Damon to the side as she sat beside him.

Poor Stefan's confusion only intensified as he glanced at Damon, then at Bonnie, and then at them again. "Uh, am I interrupting something?"

They glared at him in perfect unison. "No!"

Stefan whistled softly. "Well, that certainly didn't convince me." Taking a sip of his coffee, he glanced over at the front door as Tyler and Matt walked in. "Hang on, I'm gonna ask Tyler about something. I'll be back."

"Maybe in the next century," Damon grumbled, watching Stefan hastily exit stage right.

Bennett laughed hollowly, sipping her latte with a slight smirk. His heart sank, and he wasn't quite sure why – he was almost certain their dislike was mutual. She wouldn't toy with his thoughts if she actually enjoyed his company. She said, "But it was enlightening, wasn't it? You wanted some answers, and there they were."

They weren't exactly the answers that he sought. If anything, it only raised more questions about a long distant past – and Damon didn't believe in dwelling in something that couldn't be changed. Time travel didn't exist for really good reason.

"How did you become a vampire?" He was too tired to phrase it politely. Stress had blocked the polite part of his brain, prompting him to openly ask everything on the edge of his tongue. "I mean, if my ancestor loved you enough to free you, I don't think it was on purpose."

She sat up straighter. "Do you really want to know, Salvatore?"

"Only if you think it'll help the present." He blew on the edge of his cup, finishing the rest of his tea. "I don't dwell on the past, Bennett. I figure, if this Katherine's bad news like Giuseppe kept implying she was, you've got your reasons for giving me this instead of—"

"Katherine turned me."

Damon stared blankly at her, nearly dropping his ceramic mug onto the floor.

Taking his stunned silence as a reply, Bonnie continued, "She said it was for my own good, but I never believed her. It was hard to tell when she told the truth, so I…" She swallowed her breath. "I left town soon afterwards."

"Did she turn Anna too?" Damon raised an eyebrow. "Or is your homicidal BFF not part of that circle?"

Bennett elbowed him. Hard. "I knew Anna back then. We weren't close like we are now." Time must've forged those strong bonds. (Did they, what, create the Mystic Falls Vampires Club together?) "So, now you know… we came to Mystic Falls, and I enrolled in school to befriend Elena and the rest of the kids in her circle."

"So when you were at the Gilberts on Taco Night, you weren't there to see if her parents were vampire hunters…"

"I had to figure out if she was really Katherine." Bennett shook her head fondly. "Jeremy was the easiest way in, and I remembered, the Gilberts had always hated my kind…"

As much as they despised vampires, that family continued to believe the best in people. Jeremy's heart was far bigger than he wanted to admit, so of course he had welcomed Bonnie inside without a second doubt. She continued, "I had never planned on seeing you there that night. I figured, you would rarely meddle in other people's affairs, so I could question them, no problem."

He snorted. "Whatever gave that impression?"

She thoughtfully looked at him, tapping her chin as she admitted, "Now, I'm not so sure. You care far more than you let on."

Damn, was he turning into an open book? Damon had prided himself on not wearing his heart on his sleeve. If people wanted to talk about their feelings or other mushy crap, he turned the other way before they could rope him along. They kept saying he cared and he _loved_ , but he… he wasn't a good person. Not in the way they believed he was.

"It's all about choice, Bennett," he calmly reminded her, rising to buy himself another cup of tea. "You might want to remember that sometime. You can choose to get revenge on Katherine through her descendants, or you can move on."

Bennett wrinkled her nose at him. "I'm not interested in revenge. I already told you, I don't want Anna to open the tomb. That's the deal she intends to make with you."

Again with the goddamn tomb underneath the church ruins. What the hell was so important down there? Damon scrutinized her carefully. "How do I know you're not working together? For all I know, you could be the good cop to her bad cop."

Bennett's face darkened as she stared down at their shoes. "Because I want that tomb to stay shut. Giuseppe and my sister created that tomb together, and I see my promises to the very end."

"Your sister?" Damon blinked back surprise. "What about your sister? Giuseppe's the one with magic, so I…"

_Miss Emily wanted to strengthen our gift_ was a sentence often repeated in Giuseppe's grimoire. _The gift that our families passed down from generation to generation_.

A slow smirk graced Bennett's features as she leaned in even closer, resting her hand on his chest. It was surprisingly warm for a bloodsucker – from the caffeine maybe? – but gentle too. "You weren't the only one with magic, Salvatore."

He inhaled sharply, noticing how her other hand reached for his gunblade necklace, fiddling with it as if it were the only thing that mattered in the entire world. "I… I'm not?"

"No."

Bloodsuckers weren't supposed to possess magic. The balance of nature simply wouldn't allow it, so how did she… how did she bypass that neat little restriction? Her downcast gaze refused to meet him in the eye, even as she whispered in his ear, "My sister and I possessed a gift as brilliant as Giuseppe's. You see, it was never Emily Katherine disliked. It was always me."

Damon allowed himself a breath as he reached for her hand and lightly wrapped his hand around her wrist. "Because you didn't fit into her neat little plan. You didn't fit, and she needed to get rid of you fast."

"Probably."

Idle chatter from the rest of the shop lulled them into an uncomfortable silence as he listened to the rhythm of her breath. For a few seconds, he could hear Tyler and Stefan argue over children's TV shows, nearly breaking the moment between him and Bennett. He was almost certain his heart rate was spiking dangerously (Bennett just wasn't healthy for him), and yet… and yet he didn't quite mind this.

After the silence had grown unbearable, he pried her hands off him. "So you want me to tell Anna no, because someone's stuck in that tomb and they can't afford to get out?"

She must've taken him for some kind of idiot. Only a true moron would take her at her word and acquiesce to her demands, because while Giuseppe had loved her, he had loved her human self. A hundred years had passed. She wasn't the same handmaiden that would've fled with him to the North.

"I'm not someone you can convince with some sob story," he said, rising to his feet and gathering his belongings. "I don't know why you even tried, Bennett."

She sighed, not bothering to follow him as he grabbed Stefan by the arm ("Damon, the hell?") and dragged him out the door.

"Seriously, bro, what is going on?" Stefan broke free from Damon's grip, holding his fists defensively as he glared at him. "What did Bonnie even _say_ to you?"

"Nothing worth mentioning."

"Nothing? Nothing doesn't get you this pissed." Stefan folded his arms. "I was winning my debate with Tyler too. Couldn't you have waited five minutes?"

Damon snorted. "Not exactly. I've got a thesis, and if I remember correctly, you've got Career Night coming up soon. Didn't they want me to chaperone or supervise or something I don't remember agreeing to?"

"Do you ever read the forms before signing them?" Stefan groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Damon, you're going to sign your soul away one day and never know it."

While his kid brother had a fair point, Damon didn't exactly feel like allowing him the upper hand. Not when Bennett had sorely pressed his buttons in less than half an hour. "Just tell me what time I need to be there, and you can go back to arguing with Tyler about anime."

"It wasn't an argument," protested Stefan, but the effort was primarily in vain, because Damon was already pulling out his car keys and revving up the engine.

Hopefully, Career Night wouldn't be as much of a bust as Damon anticipated.

 

 

 

 

 

Every other year, Mystic Falls High hosted an event for students to explore their post-high school options. Most of the adults descended upon the school, eagerly extolling the virtues (and hiding the flaws) of their various career paths – and Damon? Well, Damon honestly had no idea what he had agreed to do. Supposedly, they wanted him to discuss career paths in psychology, particularly at the graduate level.

As long as they didn't mind him winging the entire speech, he could do it. So he had arrived an hour early, gotten one of those cute name-tags, and relaxed with his phone in the gym bleachers as various students shuffled from one side of the room to the other. After a few minutes of easy, comfortable silence, Damon could hear footsteps approaching him.

"Wow, Stefan was right. You really _don't_ read the fine print," Alaric's voice called, lightly joking as he sat down beside Damon.

Damon smiled thinly at him. "I figure it won't usually kill me."

"So, you ready to introduce a bunch of high schoolers to the wonderful world of cognitive psychology?" Alaric laughed, struggling to keep his composure as he glanced over at some of his students. "That is, if it can even be simplified?"

"Eh." Damon shrugged. "The exposure's more important at this age."

They headed down to the booths, casually skimming various posters as they walked amongst the students. Most were typical: doctors, teachers, the police force, and even animal control had set up a booth. Alaric stopped at animal control, turning to Damon and mouthing, "Wait, really?"

Damon stifled a laugh. "You're talking about a town with nearly a hundred animal attacks in the past fifty years or so. I'd say we more than deserve them at Career Night."

"Jesus." Alaric pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought it was a code for something, but it's _real_?"

"Squirrels mistook Stefan's toes for acorns in the fifth grade, and then there was the time a dog in heat mistook Tyler for a potential mate…" Damon began rattling off nearly forgotten stories, counting on his fingers as he continued, "Not to mention the raccoon infestations, or the time I came home to a black bear in my driveway… and that's just _me._ "

Stunned silence was his only reply, as Alaric guiltily shuffled his hands into his pockets and moved forward. Except, wait, Alaric had said _code_. Was he… was he also privy to the truth? Damon shot him a questioning glance.

A loud murmur hushed over the crowd as something hit the gym door. Hard. Mayor Lockwood, formerly engrossed in some debate, rushed outside mid-sentence. Damon and Alaric exchanged nods before they followed him.

Outside, Tyler was pressing Jeremy against the brick wall, nearly ramming the poor kid in-

"Whoa, hey, tough guy!" Alaric rushed between them, prying Tyler off as Damon rushed to grab Jeremy.

The mayor stepped forward, ostensibly to say something, but Damon glared fiercely at Dickwood Sr. "We've got them, sir."

"Doesn't look like you've got it," Dickwood remarked, gesturing towards the gym door.

"What was going on here?" Damon said through gritted teeth, maneuvering so that he blocked Dickwood's path. "Jeremy and Tyler were assigned to me for a demonstration."

(Not even remotely true, but it was going to be, at the rate these two kept injuring each other. Had they never heard of mediated talks? Or hell, anger management?)

Disappointment briefly set on the Mayor's face, before it was replaced with the fakest smile Damon had ever seen. "Do I look like a student to you, Damon?"

"No, you look like a full-grown alpha douchebag," Alaric interrupted, folding his arms and looming over Dickwood.

Dickwood scoffed, "You can't talk to me like that."

"Sure he can. It's a free country," Damon interrupted, still inspecting Jeremy for wounds or bruises. The blood on his face had clotted; thankfully, the kid was otherwise unharmed. "Now, if I remember correctly, you owe me a favor from a few months back with Mason?"

Silence threatened to overtake them. In the light of the full moon, the Mayor looked almost menacing as he balled his hands into fists. For a brief second, Damon envisioned him rushing headfirst at Alaric, except—

Dickwood Sr. sighed, regaining his composure as he turned towards the parking lot. "Now we're even, kid. Tyler, let's go."

"Can't." Tyler gestured towards the gym. "I have a _demonstration_ , Dad."

"Tch." The second Mayor Lockwood was out of sight and hearing range, Damon allowed himself a sigh of relief as he released Jeremy and helped the kid onto his feet.

It was Alaric who first asked the kids, "Are you alright?"

"I think so." Jeremy nodded, reaching to feel his forehead. "Tyler, what was that all about?"

"I… I… I don't know." Tyler swallowed a breath, staring down at his bruised, blood-stained fists. Underneath the moonlight, they shone even brighter than before. The kids must've been wrestling for a while, but even then, some of Tyler's bruises were older. They didn't match the newer wounds that Jeremy had inflicted on him.

For a brief moment, Damon was reminded of the scars across Mason's shoulders, of the way Mason would always laugh it off and insisted that he was just a clumsy kid. Shaking those thoughts away, Damon pressed his lips together. "Your uncle might. Give him a call for me later?"

"Will do." Tyler nodded, the relief more than evident on his face as Alaric handed him tissues to wipe his hands. "What does Dad owe you in the first place? He _never_ backs down like that."

Truthfully, Mason had also experienced similar rage. Rage that ultimately killed his workmate Jimmy – and rage that threatened to consume him, if he weren't careful. As Damon was slowly coming to realize, that same rage was fully genetic.

"Long story," Damon said quietly, his expression softening as he looked at Tyler. For not the first time, he was wondering if he had misjudged the kid. Stefan had long seen the qualities that were only starting to slip out, and Damon regretted not wedging his way in sooner. "Be careful from now on."

Jeremy and Alaric were already heading inside, leaving him and Tyler alone for the first time in what must've been months. Tyler had always been particularly difficult to read – on the outside, he acted like a total douchebag, teasing everyone mercilessly and taking no prisoners. Problem was, his mask slipped frequently, revealing a kid that adored the fine arts and prided himself on the company he kept.

That mask slipped again, as Tyler gazed at him with slight reverence. "Is this a magic thing? I'm… I'm not normal either, am I?"

"Not yet." Damon bit on his inner lip. "I mean, you're normal right now."

"Does Stefan know about this?"

Damon shook his head. "No, and you shouldn't tell him. He's stressed enough about his powers without adding you to the mix." First Stefan, then Elena, and now Tyler too? Who was next? (Please don't say Jeremy. Damon didn't think his heart could cope with yet another supernatural kid.)

"So what _am_ I?" The fear was clearly coloring Tyler's voice, as his mask slipped completely and tears threatened to stream down his face. "I didn't mean to hurt Jeremy, I swear! God, he annoys me all the time, and I know he didn't mean it, but…"

"You're Tyler freaking Lockwood." Damon snorted, stepping closer and ruffling the kid's hair. "You're a beast at football and art and anything you want to conquer – except women, because we still need to talk about that. You're whatever you want to be, and as long as you control your anger, you'll stay that way."

Tyler laughed softly, despite the tears streaming down his cheeks. "My anger? Am I secretly the Hulk?"

"Not quite. It's kind of a genetic thing. A freaky genetic thing," Damon clarified. "Mason took up yoga because of it, and we tried getting your dad on that bandwagon, but he's stupidly stubborn."

"Mm." Tyler glanced towards the parking lot – which was one car emptier than five minutes ago – before he said, "I think that runs in the family too."

"There are worse traits to inherit," Damon pointed out, opening the door for them as they headed back inside. "Now come on, I've still got a demonstration to give."

"Wait, I'm seriously listening to it?"

"Like I'm letting you get off that easy." Damon shoved him towards the crowd, taking care not to push too hard.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jeremy laughing about something with a girl in the corner of the room. As Jeremy brandished his sketchbook, pointing out particularly comically-drawn figures, the girl laughed so fully that Damon could see her face. He blinked, rubbing his eyes before staring at her again. No. No, it couldn't be.

"Aw, Anna, it's not that funny," Jeremy was saying, wrinkling his nose at her. "I mean, I wasn't _aiming_ for a comedy when I drew these panels."

Damon's stomach twisted as she said in-between bursts of laughter, "I don't know, Jer. It's kind of a funny story to me."

"Earth to Damon?" Tyler glanced at him, motioning for Damon to take center stage. "Your talk starts in like, ten seconds."

Since he couldn't spontaneously cancel on a bunch of jaded children, Damon stepped forward and rolled up his sleeves. Figures: Jeremy must've had some kind of death wish (or vampire magnet) for the consistent string of girls that flocked to him. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated on the kids he knew - on Tyler, on Elena and Stefan lingering in the corner, on Matt conversing with an archeologist, on Bennett listening by the doorway, and even on Caroline listening intently in the front row with a notebook - and for a brief moment, the atmosphere tinged with flecks of purple.

Stefan held his hand out to the purple light, glowing even more fiercely from Elena's necklace, and even Tyler stared at the flecks with awe. Save for them, no one noticed the brief burst of purple light - hard to notice it, when the lights resumed their normal color milliseconds later. Alaric hovered protectively near Elena, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. At the time, Damon couldn't envision why his heart stopped as Alaric pulled her to the side of the gym. He blamed it on nerves, because the kids had never heard him talk before - and frankly, he could've lived without giving them the grand speech. His kid brother was right: next time, he should've read the fine print.


	15. revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! Life's kept me rather busy (in the good way, I promise - I've been traveling), and thus left me with little time to update until a couple of nights ago. With this chapter, I have successfully overridden the canonical scripts I'd been using as reference! Hopefully, that should make subsequent chapters more exciting (both on my end to write, and on your end to read). 
> 
> This chapter also finally kicks the major plot into motion (because while I'm not particularly keen on dragging the Originals into this fic, I'm also not keen on making it drag the entire length of the show either), so we're going to see more magic as time drags on - and if people are interested, more of the Salvatore family as well! If that kind of stuff interests you, please let me know, because I've got notes and ideas for Damon's and Stefan's numerous cousins - and of course, their parents are heading back into town for Christmas with big news. 
> 
> Reviews are always fantastic, because even at this point, I'm still not sure what works and what doesn't - and support has been amazing at keeping this kind of work alive, so thank you, even if you're just silently reading along. c: It means the world to me.

His speech was one panic-induced blur. Damon must have given it, because he remembered taking the stage and catching the microphone that Caroline had tossed him. The entire time, his sweaty hands shook violently as they gripped the microphone for dear life (and he envisioned Anna’s neck in its place). He even remembered yelling to the crowd as he plastered on the largest smile he could muster, and he remembered the circulating air, tinged with specks of violet and glowing with the same energy that pulsed through his veins. If he had to pinpoint a source of that energy, he would've later said it was Stefan. At the time, he figured it was his nerves, outwardly manifesting as a giant protection ward. 

To this crowd, he must've explained the general world of psychology - first studying it in college, and then applying it to several real-world disciplines, such as clinical research; counseling; and even various forms of medicine. Used wisely, it could be a jack-of-all-trades degree, lifting students into whatever discipline they chose. He must have, because he had painstakingly carried those notes into the gymnasium earlier that evening. 

He must have, and yet, he couldn't recall a single word. Right as he remembered to ask, "Any questions," Caroline freaking Forbes had to raise her hand. 

“Sooooo, Damon,” she said in her best _I’m paying attention_ voice, “If I wanted to become a counselor, would I get a psych degree and then go for a masters in counseling?” 

Damon inwardly groaned. This wasn't his specialty - he dealt with cognitive psych, in understanding brainwaves and the nuances of how people perceive the world - and yet, this town had to act like he was the prime authority. Jenna studied this discipline too, you know! As he gathered the strength to answer, he heard stupid Anna giggling from the back row. While Caroline had asked a reasonable question, he had places to be and people to save! He couldn't spend forever on a stupid question with multiple answers. 

"Depends," Damon began eloquently, peering up over the crowd of jaded students and faculty. So far, neither Anna nor Jeremy had moved from their spots in the back. Good: he could still reach them after the Q-and-A portion of the evening. "My co-worker's getting an academic one for school counseling, but you could get a professional one too for substance counseling. Or whatever you wanna do." 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Stefan fidgeting by the door. His kid brother kept turning something in his pocket over and over again, with worried eyes that scanned the hallway for any sign of life. Nothing – not even his visions – had gotten the kid this spooked. 

Damon decided to wrap up with, “You've got a lot of options, basically. You can't go wrong with whatever path you choose." 

Rolling her eyes at his non-answer, Caroline had to raise her hand again. "Um, Damon..." 

Footsteps - namely, that of the principal - were rapidly approaching, so Damon tossed her the microphone. "Looks like that's all the time I've got, so catch me later and we'll talk." 

Hastily, he exited stage right and pushed his way through the crowd. As soon as this night ended, he would tie a leash around Gilbert Jr.’s scrawny wrists, because that kid couldn't keep himself out of trouble for a couple of hours. (He must've had a death wish. There was no other rational explanation.) 

As he approached them in the far back of the gym, their voices grew louder. Anna ducked her head demurely, avoiding Jeremy’s incoming sketchbook. "Jeremy! Ow!" 

Jeremy laughed, pulling back and returning his sketchbook into his backpack. It, along with various art supplies, peeked out under the overstuffed zipper. "Hey, you wanted to come, remember? I was gonna call in sick, but you just had to convince me to stick around." 

Her laughter echoed through the hall, no matter how tightly she pushed her hand against her face. Crap, Jeremy was falling hard for her, even though Vicki hadn't left town that long ago. He was falling and falling right into her tiny little fingers, and if he weren't careful, she would suck his veins dry to the bone. Sure, he hadn’t seen her gorge on people other than Vicki – and even, that was to turn her into a member of their freak club – but she could always make an exception. 

Anna scrunched her entire face up, and for a brief second, she looked like a regular girl, flirting harmlessly with her crush. Damon suspected that if he stuck around much longer, he would fall into the vortex that had become Jeremy's poor life choices. So he announced his presence with an abnormally loud cough. 

"Oh, Damon! Good talk." Jeremy waved warmly at him, motioning for him to sit down.

"Yeah, it was... informative," Anna chimed, her smirk betraying her amicable tone. "Wish you could've stuck around for more questions. Speaking of, I've still got one for you." 

Jeremy blinked back surprise. "You do? I thought you said you weren't interested in this kind of stuff." 

Damon narrowed his eyes at her. "I--" 

Interrupted by a strong shoulder tap. "Hey, I think we have a problem," Stefan's voice called from behind. 

Damon winced, pulling himself away from the brewing CW drama in front of him. Clearly, Anna's answer would have to wait for a few more minutes. Giving her the universal gesture for 'hang on a second,' Damon followed his kid brother to the opposite side of the room. "What kind of problem?" 

"A Mr. Saltzman problem. He needed Elena to see something like, ten minutes ago, but they haven't come out of his room yet." Stefan folded his arms, peering towards the hallway that led to Alaric's classroom. "You think I'm overreacting?" 

"Not really." Over the past few weeks, life had become chaotic enough that anything could spell trouble. Instincts mattered just as much as the little things that triggered them. "Was that why they left right before my talk?" 

"Seems like it." Stefan gestured towards the hall, waiting patiently for Damon to follow him. 

As they walked beside each other, falling into an old pattern Damon hadn't associated with his brother in a while, he couldn't help staring at his kid brother. Most days, Stefan was an eternal eight year old with a gap between his teeth and unruly hair that couldn't be tamed by even the thickest of hair gel. In Damon's memory, he trailed behind his older brother, tugging on his shirt and insisting, _I can help too!_

(“Of course you can,” Damon had always retorted in his memory, reaching down for Stefan and holding the kid close to his chest as they scribbled on notebook paper, or watched a movie, or even just curled up on the couch next to one another. “You’re Stefanizo, right? You can do almost anything if you try hard enough.”)

When had his baby brother been replaced with this determined teenager who would pay any price to ensure his girlfriend's safety? Damon rarely regretted his life choices - because at some point, he had to accept that he had made them, and that he couldn't cry over spilt milk anymore. Yet, sometimes, he wished he had stuck around home a little longer, because then his own brother wouldn't surprise him so often. 

He must've been gawking at Stefan, because his younger brother had tilted his head to the side ever so slightly before stopping in front of Alaric's classroom door. "What's up?" 

"Nothing," Damon said, unable to hide the smile tugging on his face. Even outside his memory, Stefan had managed to retain some innocence. Good; the kid could use it a little longer. "Come on, let's see what those two are up to." 

"You may have this whole town wrapped around your little finger, but you don't fool me," Alaric was saying, right as Damon wrapped a hand around the doorknob. "Now, we can do this the easy way, or I can just..." 

The hallway shook as the atmosphere again tinged with purple, lightly reflecting off Stefan's hands. Damon and Stefan exchanged nervous glances as Damon twisted the knob. The door didn't budge. 

Elena's voice too echoed through the hall as she said, "I already told you, I'm not-- mrgh!"

Stefan hastily kicked the door open with his entire might - impressive, considering he was a ninety-five pound weakling - as he and Damon rushed inside. 

Elena was encased in a circular shield of purple as Alaric kicked against its outer shell. With her back pressed against the wall, Elena fervently clutched her necklace, turning it over and over again. Violet light peeked between her fingers. She was breathing far too heavily to talk, with choked sobs escaping her lips every few seconds. 

Damon turned on his heels, pushing Alaric against the other wall. "What the hell?" 

When Jenna had announced - loudly and proudly via a late-night call - that she and Alaric had planned a first date, Damon had supported her the entire conversation. They had stayed up late, discussing the various merits of her ex-boyfriends (and Damon’s ex-girlfriends too, for good measure) and how Alaric exceeded their pitifully low standards by leaps and bounds. 

He had had a stable job; he had ambitions for the future; he didn’t know her entire past; and most importantly, he got along with her friends (read: Damon). 

(“Looks like our childhood marriage pact won’t come to fruition,” Damon had joked at the time. “I was really looking forward to our June wedding.” 

Jenna’s loud and disgruntled sigh was all the response he had needed.) 

Alaric was supposed to be better than Scumfell, because Alaric would support her crazy life choices. Alaric would hold her hand during scary movies; Alaric would kiss her in the rain a la _The Notebook_ ; Alaric would call long naps ideal dates; Alaric would…. Alaric would…. 

Alaric would be full of stupid surprises, like attacking the most harmless girl in town. He could've at least gone for the warlock or the kid with anger issues, but nope, he had to pick the popular cheerleader. Of course. 

Quickly, Stefan slipped through the shield and knelt down beside her. "Sssh, hey, hey," he said softly, pulling her close to him and gently enveloping her in his arms. "Hey, it's gonna be alright. See? Our spell worked." 

"I said," Damon said through gritted teeth as he nearly pummeled Alaric into the next classroom, "What the hell, man?" 

"She's - she's not who she seems, Damon!" Alaric protested, flinching at Damon's touch. "I swear, she'll..." 

"You swear _what_?" Damon growled, pressing down on Alaric's arms harder as he pinned the moron better against the wall. As he reached for Alaric's throat, he held it loosely around his hand. "You swear that you'll kill Elena? Because, you know, your students aren't important to you or anything." 

"She's--she's not Elena," Alaric's voice weakly cried out. 

"Actually, she is," Bennett's voice echoed, as she walked in, with her heels clacking loudly against the linoleum tiles, and surveyed the chaos. 

Seats were strewn aside; the desk was wobbled, with papers tossed aside every which way - if it weren't for the giant purple shield, Damon could've assumed a tornado hit town. Even Alaric’s poor FDR poster had fallen to the ground in the chaos. 

Reluctantly, Damon released Alaric and watched him sink onto his knees. "What do you mean, she is? We've known that for years." 

"He clearly thought she was Katherine, though," Bennett had to point out, folding her arms as she looked at Damon. "Why else would he threaten her?"

She had a point. One Damon desperately refused to acknowledge, just as he had refused to acknowledge the protection ward that Stefan had cast on his girlfriend's necklace. (He would never doubt his brother's paranoia again.) 

Alaric nearly choked on his own breath, instead burying his face in his hands as he remained on the linoleum tiles. "If... if she's not Katherine, then..." 

"For starters, how do you even know Katherine?" Damon tilted his head to the side. "She's locked up in a tomb." 

"Now that's impossible." Alaric glanced up at him with blood-shot eyes, slowly rising to his feet and holding onto the nearby teacher's desk for support. "The last time I saw Katherine, she killed my wife." 

Bennett stepped back, nearly crashing into the rows of students' desks behind her. "Wh-what do you mean?" 

"You actually saw her?" Damon scratched his cheek. 

Alaric had no reason to lie about Katherine. He had no reason to create some fanciful tale about his wife's killer, just as he had no reason to remain in Mystic Falls. He could've re-invented himself anywhere else in the country, and yet he chose this tiny town of six thousand people. If Alaric claimed that he saw Katherine, and thus was prompted to move here, then... 

"Is there..." Damon swallowed saliva, racking his brain for any feasible answer (because Elena killing some woman clearly wasn't the answer). "Bennett, is there any way Katherine could've escaped that tomb already?" 

Bennett stared down numbly at her shoes. "I hope not."

Another story - one worse than the tales Giuseppe had described - was brewing at his feet, and Damon couldn't bear to hear the ending. He was so tired, of the bloodsuckers descending upon the people he loved (and even the people who loved the people he loved). 

Elena released the shield, collapsing in Stefan's arms. Gently, he rose to his feet, cradling his girlfriend against his chest. "I'll get her home safe. In the meantime..." Stefan took a deep breath, turning towards Damon and Alaric. His glare could’ve burnt the whole classroom down in milliseconds. "Get this worked out." 

As he left, leaving Bennett, Damon, and Alaric to mull over the mess in the dimly-lit classroom, silence threatened to overtake them. Damon lacked the energy to speak: he could save Tyler from his father, but he couldn't properly save Elena from an acquaintance? An acquaintance, keep in mind, who had willingly risked his reputation and livelihood against the most powerful man in town? The pieces weren't properly adding up, no matter how many times Damon turned the jigsaw pieces in his brain. 

Almost half a minute passed before Alaric admitted, "She was immune to vervain's effects, so I thought... she might've been a super vampire... which sounds _really stupid_ now that I'm saying it out loud." He paused for a few seconds, the gears visibly turning in his head as he scrutinized Damon. "How come you know? About the supernatural, I mean? I thought you were normal." 

Bennett snorted. Loudly. "If he's normal, then I'm the Queen of Sheba." 

For that, Damon leaned on her, pressing his elbow lightly on her shoulder. "It's a long story." 

"Well," Alaric said with a small laugh, gesturing around his empty classroom, "If you don't mind, I've got all the time in the world."

 

 

 

As they cleared the mess Elena's shield had caused, Damon explained nearly everything - how he and Stefan were wizards; how Bennett's arrival had exacerbated Stefan's powers; and now how Tyler's anger management was rooted in genetic 'enhancement.' He danced around the exact word, because Tyler shouldn't know the truth before Mason told him – but the mere explanation had been enough to make Alaric's shoulders sink with relief.

Hastily, he added, “Jenna and Jeremy don’t know anything, so please….” 

“Mum’s the word.” Alaric made the zipping motion with his lip, tossing an imaginary key into his trashbin. He reached for a stack of papers, lifting them off the ground and organizing them by last name. “Does this make you, like, the town protector? The local superhero or something?” 

Bennett stifled a laugh. "He tries to be. As to whether or not he succeeds, well..." 

"You're no help whatsoever," Damon pointed out, sighing as he straightened the last row of desks. "You gave me a _diary_ and expected me to pull supernatural secrets from it. What, you don't trust me with your ancestor's grimoire?" 

"You could've given it to Anna," Bennett retorted, rushing to help him with the last desk, "And then where would we be?" 

"Why would I work with her?" Damon groaned, lightly poking her chest with his finger, "I don't even want to work with _you_ , Bennett. Jesus Christ, you're stupider than I remembered!" 

Alaric barreled over with laughter, leaning forward to hold his stomach as he shook his head fondly at them. "You two are really something," he said, once he regained his composure long enough to speak. "Man, and I thought Tyler and Matt were hilarious enough…"

Damon scowled as he turned away from Bennett. “Your turn, Ric,” Damon said, steadying the FDR poster onto the wall. “How’d you uncover the supernatural? If Katherine was the one who killed your wife, she should've wiped your mind clean." 

Bloodsuckers were awfully notorious that way, with their constant reliance on mind control that never fully worked. Witches and warlocks were fully immune, as well as every male in Tyler Lockwood's bloodline, not to mention other supernatural creatures that roamed the universe. Damon hadn't encountered a psychic or ghost yet, but he figured it was only a matter of time. Strange, too, that Katherine had left a witness to her crime - unless she _wanted_ the memory etched in Alaric's brain. 

Damon had to be overthinking it, because no vampire could be stupid enough to leave a calling card in the form of some poor guy's dead wife. 

"If she noticed me, you mean." Alaric shrugged somberly, fidgeting with the ring on his finger. "She didn't realize I was there, the night Isobel died." 

Isobel. Isobel, like Dr. Isobel Flemming, the parapsychologist Damon occasionally cited in his research. Her name cropped up enough for Wes and Misao to tease him about his puppy crush on a woman he'd never meet. (What? Damon couldn't help that her work was highly relevant to his thesis. She had written extensively on all these differently-abled species, and he could incorporate them into his masters' without worry of digging through other scientific journals.

He could only quote _Magitek_ so many times before someone noticed that it was a journal restricted to the supernatural community. Even Uncle Grayson had commented on _Magitek_ , and he hadn’t worked with Augustine in over a decade.) 

Bennett reached over and lightly squeezed Alaric's hand. "It's a good thing she didn't, _if_ this is Katherine we're talking about."

Alaric nodded, shooting Bennett a grateful smile. "No kidding. Anyways, Isobel had always been interested in the supernatural, so after she died... well, I kept her research going, and realized she was onto something crazy." 

(Her research? Isobel and Dr. Flemming may have shared more in common than Damon thought.) 

"So you decided to go all rogue vampire hunter on Elena here," Damon finished, staring at the spot where Elena and her shield had been. "Good thing Stefan had decided to enchant her necklace." 

"A very good thing, indeed." Bennett mused, her heels clacking against the floor as she turned to leave. "Alaric, are... are you...?" 

"I think I'll be fine." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It makes me wonder, though. Why does Elena look so much like her?" 

Damon shrugged, staring at the empty hallway before them. "That's a question I think we all want the answer to."

 

 

Anna and Jeremy were waiting for him and Bennett outside, right beside his car. Sheepishly, Jeremy gestured towards the large (abstract, paint-streaked) canvas in his arms. "I can't walk back home with this, and Stefan and Elena had..." 

Stefan and Elena had already left, because they were (understandably) spooked about their history teacher trying to kill them. Damon nodded, silently unlocking the car as he pulled out his keys. Carefully, Jeremy stashed the painting in the trunk before sliding into the backseat.

"Anna?" Damon gestured towards the parking lot, the second he was certain Jeremy was out of hearing range. "I've got a question, before I answer yours." 

"Hm?" She blinked back surprise, turning on her heels to look at him better. "What's up?" 

"Is... is Katherine still in the tomb?" 

Anna furrowed her brow. "Huh? Why are _you_ interested in her?" 

"Just answer the question, Anna," Bennett insisted, standing before Damon as she met Anna's steely gaze. "Is Katherine locked with the others or not?" 

"Bonnie..." Anna lifted a hand to her mouth, furiously blinking back tears (wait, tears?!) as she avoided meeting her fellow vampire's gaze. "Dammit, I thought you knew." 

"Knew what, exactly?" 

Anna swallowed her saliva, staring down at the ground as she balled her hands into little fists. "Knew that she was never there." 

Bennett staggered backwards into Damon's arms. For what felt like eternity, Damon sensed her whole weight collapsing upon him, and he couldn't push her onto the ground. Technically, he could - he didn't owe her any relief. He owed her nothing, after the trickery she had incurred on him earlier. 

He owed her nothing, even as he leaned down and wrapped his arms around her waist, allowing his head to rest on her shoulder. She looked like she was all skin and bones, but she _felt_ differently. She felt soft, with warmth radiating from the sunlight necklace she always wore. For better or worse, she had bypassed every single lock he had placed upon her. 

"She... wasn't?" Bennett's voice squeaked. Tears were streaming down her face as she managed to say, "B-but Anna, if she's not there, then... then..." 

"Then she's been avoiding you for over a century." Anna bowed her head in shame. "I last saw her in 1983, in Chicago. Bonnie, I'm... I'm... I thought you hated me because of my mom, not Katherine..." 

They hiccuped, before Anna rushed into her fellow vampire's arms and hugged her tightly. Bonnie returned that hug, nearly forcing Damon off her and into the most awkward three-person hug he'd had in his entire life. Nothing said awkward more than your archenemy and your sometimes-enemy insisting on a group hug with you on the sidelines. 

"I would never hate you because of Pearl," Bonnie said soothingly, clinging fiercely to Anna long enough for Damon to let go. " _Never._ " 

"It sure felt like it," Anna admitted shyly, burying herself in Bennett's hair. 

From the back seat, Jeremy peered at them. "Are they...?" 

"Let them," Damon said after a moment, climbing into the driver's seat. "I've got a feeling they'll take a while." 

Before he revved up the engine, Anna peered over at the car. "Hey, Damon? About my question?" 

Damon thought about it for maybe a millisecond. "I'll give you an answer tomorrow. Drop by my place around noon." 

"Sounds good." Anna's cheeks flushed brightly as she let go of Bennett. "I swear, I'll do anything you ask." 

"I know." Damon raised an eyebrow. He remembered: hard to forget her earlier actions, as good as the motivations behind them may have been. (At least she wasn't trying to release Katherine from a crummy fate.) "Scumfell was working with you, right? You need higher standards, Anna." 

Anna wrinkled her nose at him. "And I got them, right, Van Helsing?" 

Jeremy groaned at them. "Come on, I've got school tomorrow. Wait, _we've_ got school tomorrow, Bonnie. Anna's home-schooled, but we've got like, no excuse." 

Bennett wistfully stared at the starry sky above them, twirling as she reveled in the light breeze that blew past her. "I know. I can walk home by myself." 

"Not a chance." Damon unlocked his door, motioning for them to slide inside. "Come on, or the big bad wolf's gonna eat you two alive if you're not careful." 

Although Bennett and Anna had rolled their eyes at him as they obeyed his orders, Damon couldn't help glancing up at the full moon hanging in the sky. The night had raised more questions than it had answered - Katherine was still alive, namely, and she had wandered the Earth for over a century, eluding Bonnie every step of the way. If Anna wasn’t the real enemy – the real threat to whatever darkness was spreading over town – then he had to wonder, just what did Katherine want with this godforsaken place?


	16. blood spells

Damon could never call himself a morning person. His scattered memories of high school were brimming with drowsy breakfasts; with half-filled, trembling cups of tea; and with pity rides from Mason and Jenna. Most days, he had battled the rolling fog and shoved through the clouds until he (inevitably) collapsed onto his desk in the back of the classroom. Rarely would his eyes remain open the whole time. 

Everything changed his senior year. He couldn't afford to claw through dense fog when the shadows teemed with strange creatures with golden eyes. His heart would otherwise become an open, beating target for the monsters that roamed through town. From the first day of school in August, he refused to succumb to his internal circadian rhythm, setting multiple alarm clocks to wake before the dawn.

Those mornings, he would tiptoe downstairs, stopping only at the edge of the kitchen where Mom was kneeling towards the northeast. Her turquoise, tightly-wrapped headscarf couldn't entirely hide her dark, messy curls – they would peek behind her scarf before she released her hair and tugged her scarf loosely around her neck. In those precious few seconds, Damon painfully wished that she didn't have to choose between her scarf and her life. Founding Families couldn't afford to swim against the tide, so to the public, she had quietly resigned herself to showing her hair. No matter how much she desired otherwise.

Under the burgeoning natural light, Mom pulled him into the kitchen, teaching him ancient recipes that she had mastered so many years ago. Long before Stefan and Dad rose from their slumber, they sat together, turning the pages until they decided on a recipe. His first grimoire, a hand-sewn, crimson leather journal with his name embroidered (Damon Mansour Salvatore), sat open beside Mom's. It was far cleaner, with less grime and spilt spices on its neat, lined pages. Back then, he had expected her to utilize eyes of newt and crushed goat hearts, not teaspoons of chia seeds or Spanish saffron.

"It looks so ordinary," he had told her with bitter disappointment on his tongue. "I thought you said we were going to learn real magic?"

Mom lightly flicked his nose. He was far taller than her, even at seventeen - she had to rise to her feet just to reach his face. He scrunched up his whole face, only to fall silent as they turned towards the stove.

"You don't think there's real magic in cooking, gattino?" She had teased as she poured a smidge of olive oil into a large saucepan. "There has to be, right? How else could we make strawberry rose waffles so yummy that Stefan inhales them whole?" (Had anyone seen Stefan chew those? Scratch that, had anyone seen him _swallow_ those?)

"I don't know. Magic's science we haven't explained yet," Damon recited mechanically, observing his mother's deft movements as she poured spices (garlic, cayenne pepper, paprika, and salt) onto raw mushrooms and stirred them together. The air was teeming of spices as the mushrooms hit the sizzling oil. 

She laughed. "That's just what your father says. Since when do you listen to him?"

Damon rolled his eyes. She'd caught him there: every time Dad requested something, Damon would retaliate with scathing questions. His bitter feelings aside, Dad had a point. Spells had their own consistent, internal rules and regulations, like the laws of gravity or matter. Every flick of the wrist and every spice in the pan meant something, or else the scientific community wouldn't study magic – er, alchemy behind closed doors. Or so the Salvatores always said. (Mom, as a Mansour, never paid them much heed.)

"Since never," Damon admitted, taking the wooden spoon from her and stirring the mushrooms, observing as their color darkened with each passing second. "But what does this have to do with synthesis?"

"Well, how did we make them?"

"We took a couple of cups of mushrooms, then some spices, then we..." He pursed his lips. "Damn. It's the same thing."

"Bingo." Mom had laughed warmly, grabbing a plate and sliding the cooked mushrooms onto it. "You take raw materials, combine them over a fire, and interfere ever-so-slightly to get your final product. Sure, there's magic in it... but isn't there a little bit of magic in everything?"

He shrugged.

She took a spoon, blowing on the mushroom before biting into it. "Mm. Sometimes, you can even synthesize breakfast." 

Damon groaned. "By that logic, cooking IS synthesis..."

Mom struggled to rein in her laughter. "You catch on quick."

Synthesis was the backbone of the Mansour family's magic. Mom's ancestors mastered the ancient art of alchemy - of fusing items from raw materials and magic - and carried their techniques with them from Jordan to Italy to America. While the world associated Damon (and by extension, Stefan) with long-storied feats of Salvatore magic, Damon had long eschewed the flash and glamour of Salvatore tricks for steady and potent Mansour alchemy. Who needed brilliant displays of fire and light when they could back up their claims with slow burns? As long as he carried her blood through his veins, he would uphold her legacy. A legacy, he often noted, that Mystic Falls loathed to acknowledge.

This he tried to ignore as he finished breakfast with her most mornings, and this he ignored even as he prepared magic lessons for Stefan in the present day. The real question was: how much longer could he pretend it didn't exist?

 

After the chaos at Career Night, Damon called in sick the following Friday morning. He couldn't afford to work from home for much longer - not when Wes and Misao questioned his "sudden migraines" and "family emergencies." Nor did he want to burden his workmates with the truth. His lab had created a tight-knit community that relied on open communication, but that same principle would unravel the secrets he had bottled up inside for nearly two years. Misao, Jessalyn, and even their interns would pry and pry until they scorched his academic ladder beyond repair. Until he could safely – and logically - explain the madness that Anna had created, he couldn't return to work. 

This weekend, he hoped, would be the last of those bloodsuckers. Stepping into the kitchen, Damon opened the fridge and scanned the shelves for the usual (eggs, evaporated milk for their tea, etc.). On the side shelf, a bottle of rose water stood out, along with a full container of strawberries. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he reached for them both. 

Maybe he couldn't openly acknowledge his mother's magic (and her heritage), but he sure could acknowledge her cooking.

 

When Stefan and Elena descended the stairs, the familiar scent of rose water wafted through the air, permeating the entire space as Stefan wordlessly stared at him, nearly dropping his messenger bag on his toes.

"Holy shit." The kid's stupefied expression was priceless. "Why would you---Did someone die again?"

Damon smothered a laugh as he slid two plates of steaming hot strawberry rose waffles towards them. "What? I can't make strawberry rose waffles anymore?"

"Rose waffles?" Elena raised both eyebrows as she peered over the plates. Her face was devoid of its usual make-up; instead, she allowed exhaustion to run across her features as she grabbed a fork. Leaning against the counter, she tore off a piece of the pink-tinted waffle and bit into it. "Mm, oh god!" Her warm brown eyes twinkled as she dug into the waffle further. "Stefan! You've gotta try these!" 

His dumb kid brother was already inhaling them whole. Forget the utensils, Stefan had seized waffles off his plate and was swallowing them whole. One by one, they vanished between his fingertips. Damon bit on his lower lip, unable to muffle his laughter as he watched his composed, reserved (and ravenous) teenage brother devouring an entire batch of waffles.

"S-slow down," Damon managed to say, holding his stomach as he succumbed to his laughter.

Stefan rolled his eyes, licking the edges of his fingers before he reached for a glass of orange juice. "What brought this on?"

Damon flicked Stefan's forehead as he poured two glasses. "I don't know, I was feeling nostalgic."

Elena stared at Stefan – and at his sticky, crumbly fingers – before she furrowed her brow at Damon. "Huh?"

"I'll explain later." Stefan gulped down the orange juice before he kissed Damon on the cheek and grabbed his car keys. (At least Stefan was awake enough to drive today.) "Come on, we'll be late!"

The lovebirds left as quietly as they had arrived, closing the door behind them. Once Damon could no longer see Stefan's car in the distance, he pulled out his tablet and Giuseppe's stupid diary. While he didn't own the fabled grimoire that held numerous family secrets, he could piece together enough clues to recreate a binding spell.

So far, his prospects were grim: Giuseppe had destroyed Aunt Liz's gem, so he couldn't rely on a talisman to amplify his powers. His magic wasn't strong enough to enchant a new one either. If he wanted to open the tomb – and more importantly, survive opening it – he had to synthesize a new spell. With his luck, he couldn't ask Stefan either: his kid brother couldn't handle the energy that a binding spell would consume. Purposefully, Damon had omitted the entire thing to him.

It was far too late to ask other cousins for advice, nor did he have any desire: no Salvatore or Mansour would approve of him aiding bloodsuckers. Truthfully, he wasn't sure he approved himself. If Anna and Bennett wished to free this 'Pearl' from an underground tomb forged by Giuseppe, they would have to undo Giuseppe's binding spell.

"Matter can't be created or destroyed," Damon murmured, turning the pages of his ancestor's diary. "But you sure can rearrange it or transmute it into something else…"

If Giuseppe utilized runes to bind bloodsuckers to the dark, Damon could carve new lines and reconfigure the spell's essence. Words mattered in Mansour alchemy, far more than they did with Salvatores. One little line could easily overtake another spell, creating something that shouldn't have existed in the first place. This would open the tomb almost as well as the magical key Giuseppe had once created. Without a talisman, Damon had to channel his lifeforce directly into the ground. No wizard could fully recuperate from the overwhelming power that would rise up into his veins. The benefits, in his mind, far outweighed the risks.

His phone buzzed with a text from Mason, as he again stared at Giuseppe's journal entries. Mason, with his usual impeccable grammar, had asked:

i need advice. now, since our skype date isn't happening. Is it too soon to date someone new?

One of these weeks, Damon would have the opportunity to question his friends' life choices. This wasn't exactly one of them. He blinked at it, biting on his lower lip as he texted back:

I thought you and Jules were still together?

we decided it wouldn't work out like a month ago man, keep up….. but i met this girl Kathy. Thinking of bringing her back for Christmas.

That serious?

more like it'll piss Dick off. :')

Then do it. We'll make room for her at Charades. 

Setting his phone on silent, Damon threw himself back into his work. He – and Jenna undoubtedly – would quiz him about Kathy, but the sooner he could pull Pearl from her invisible chains, the sooner he could return to his semblance of a normal life.

By the time the clock chimed noon, he figured he had a decent start. Rushing to the door (and the incessant ringing of their doorbell), Damon swung it open to see Anna's and Bonnie's warm, smiling faces. Their faces were flushed. Fitting, since he didn't see a parked car in the driveway.

"Hey, Van Helsing," Anna greeted, leaning on the doorframe for support. "Can we come in?"

"I don't know, can you?" He teased, ignoring Anna's pointed glare as he stepped forward.

Bennett furrowed her brow as she met his gaze. "You're actually going to let us in?"

Now or never. He took a deep breath, nearly mesmerized by the reflection in Bennett's emerald eyes. That stiff man, all bravado but no fight, had once promised Stefan that the Salvatores wouldn't yield to the will of a vampire. He meant every word. Damon had studied vampires' brainwaves for nearly two years, ever since Whitmore had accepted him with open arms. He had studied dozens of them, only to draw a chilling conclusion - they felt nothing. Bennett was a mockery of human emotion, imitating a teenage girl as if it were a second skin. True, her kindness was far greater than he expected, but he was also waiting for the other shoe to drop. No one showed this level of generosity without expecting something in return.

Damon dared to ask, "Are we freeing all twenty-seven, or twenty-six, or whatever bloodsuckers are down there?"

Anna frowned at them. "Ideally, but I only care about my mom."

Bennett raised her chin at him. "You heard her. If you could open it long enough to get her in and out..."

"Done."

He would regret this decision later. Nothing good ever came of helping two bloodsuckers-er, two vampires from achieving their aim. How did that old story go? You give a mouse a cookie, he'll want a glass of milk... People were never satisfied with one favor. Once he opened the floodgate, he couldn't pull the crank back. If he opened the tomb, got one bloodsucker out, and sealed it again for eternity, Anna would never bother him again. He could live without her breathing down his throat (and accidentally killing people along the way).

The price, he figured, was worth the end result.

"Excuse me?" Bennett gaped at him. "That's it? Done?"

Anna tilted her head to the side. "What made you change your mind so quickly?"

They wouldn't accept the truth. So he mustered up the energy to smile, even if it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You want this Pearl lady, and I want you out of Mystic Falls. It's a win-win situation."

"Uh-huh." Bennett narrowed her eyes at him. "You've spent over two months resisting this, only to believe us at the last minute? I'm not buying it, Salvatore."

He couldn't blame her. Had their roles been reversed, and he were the one that wanted this damn tomb opened so badly, he would've suspected an easy acceptance. He would've suspected the witch plotting and scheming if she gave up without a fight.

"You don't have to," he said softly, resisting the urge to reach for her hands. "I'm not asking you to trust me. Hell, I wouldn't trust myself right now."

Anna glanced at the door behind him. "You're not going to let us in, are you."

Damon smiled thinly. "Mom would hop on the next plane home and kill me, so no."

Anna giggled, stepping back ever-so-slightly to look at him better. "Aww, you're a Momma's Boy. I never would've guessed."

"It's not that surprising," Bennett admitted, her smile growing genuine as she closed the distance between them and stared up at him. Even when she was standing on the tips of her toes, she felt far taller than she actually was. "Leila raised him right."

"You've met Mom?"

No wonder Mom had sighed with relief when she had heard Bennett's name. Like Giuseppe and Bennett, there was a longer story between them. Bennett seemed to know nearly every Salvatore in Damon's family tree – and the longer her list of contacts grew, the more Damon feared for his relatives. "Wait, does this mean you know Stella and Morie?"

Bennett said, "Of them. They were little the last time I was here."

Anna blinked back surprise. "Which would be when, exactly?"

Bennett shrugged. "The 90's, I think. I don't remember the specifics."

If she really had ventured here in the 90's, Damon would've been too young to remember. In elementary school, he cared far more about trucks and Mason and the playground fights that often rumbled between the boys his age. He had little interest for his parents' friends, and had given them the quickest of greetings before rushing back into his world. It figures – the one time he hadn't lingered, might have been the one time she had immersed herself in his parents' world.

"Enough about the past," he found himself saying, folding his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. (He'd text Stella later about the strange vampire who waltzed in and out of his life.) "Show me again where the tomb is."

 

 

About half an hour later, Damon, Anna, and Bennett climbed out of his old Camaro and onto the dirt-swept grounds that had once been Fell's Church. The last time Damon had visited this (sacred?) site, Giuseppe had played puppeteer with his body, forcing him into actions he would never agree to – including one fiery murder of a local town reporter.

His throat tightened as he passed the scorched path where Logan had once stood. "What happened to his body?"

"Someone must've buried it," Anna said dismissively, stepping faster to lead them towards the tomb's entrance. Damon must've been gawking at her, because she scrunched up her face at him. "What? I was gonna bury him myself, but when I came back, it was gone."

"That fast?" Damon couldn't hide his skepticism.

Anna shrugged. "Someone else must know we're here. Better question's who, because it clearly wasn't you."

Sheriff Forbes. No one else in this town had enough motivation to hide Logan's death. Why else would she have requested so much vervain? Why else would she and Logan have discussed something in an old cemetery (according to Stefan's visions)? The pieces of this large jigsaw puzzle were finally fitting together, bit by bit, and he couldn't afford to solve the remaining bits.

"You've got a suspect already," Bennett said breezily, outpacing him as she kicked the dirt towards the side of the unpaved road. "Care to share with the class?"

"Could be implicating an innocent. I'll wait until I've got solid evidence."

Anna snorted. "Look at you, being all detective-like."

"Soooo I take it I'm _not_ setting your mom free?"

She froze in her tracks. "Can I take that back?"

Bennett didn't even try to muffle her laughter as they reached the staircase that would lead them straight to the tomb. "Maybe if you said please," she called, taking the first steps down.

"Hey!" Anna rushed behind her, leaving Damon to descend the uneven stairs by himself.

He held out his hand, illuminating the path before him with a small ball of fire as Bennett and Anna rushed to the bottom. The tomb had a relatively large pit before its sealed entrance. Setting the ball of fire onto a torch, Damon knelt in the center of the room. The pentagram on the door was simple. Giuseppe had etched the Devil's Goat, rather than the upright star of continuity and eternity. It was a warning: those that lurk behind wish you harm. That, Damon could reverse with a chisel and time. The runes on the floor were a different story. Giuseppe, that old bastard, had coded his lines in Latin.

Damon wasn't intimately familiar with dead languages: he preferred living, breathing ones that evolved with the people to one set firmly in stone. He grimaced, pulling out his phone and photographing the layout before him. Without a proper translation manual – he had left Nonno's grimoire at home – he was useless.

"I know that look," Anna said warily as she inspected his photos from behind. "You're not doing it today, are you?"

"Not unless one of you's fluent in Latin," Damian said through gritted teeth. "Bennett? Anything in Giuseppe's grimoire?"

She folded her arms, staring down at the smudged runes beneath her feet. "Nothing that I remember. The circle says _igniō_ – I ignite – but that's all I've got."

The binding spell involved fire. Considering nearly every party trick in the Salvatore handbook consisted of pyrotechnics, her "rusty" Latin was useless. Off the top of his head, Stefan (and maybe Elena) was the only person who could accurately translate the binding spell. Damon inwardly groaned. Stefan deserved one whole weekend without magic or vampires smearing his fun. With this additional burden, the risks were slowly tipping towards the other end of the scale. He couldn't pull Stefan out of school early, either: Model UN was next week, and Tyler and Stefan were in major crunch mode.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, Damon ran a hand through his hair. "Then you'll have to wait until tomorrow."

Anna snorted, turning back towards the entrance and holding her flashlight up towards the sky. "I waited a hundred and fifty years, what's an extra twenty four hours?"

"Hmph." He shook his head, following them up the dusty stairs and back to his car. "Once your mom's free, you'll really leave town?"

"That's the plan." Anna's voice turned thoughtful as she slowed down. "What about you, Bonnie?"

Bennett hummed, baring her teeth ever-so-slightly as she too walked in-step with them. "I don't know. I think I kinda like it here."

"Really?" He groaned, quickening his pace so that they could get home faster. "Of all the towns in the US, you pick this dump?"

She smiled fondly at him. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, didn't you know?"

Why couldn't he get rid of the one vampire he wanted to avoid? Damon twitched, shuffling his feet faster - he could feel the air sizzle again, just like in high school, when girls asked him funny questions that made his stomach perform rollercoaster loops over and over. This woman must've affected him worse than he realized.

When they finally reached his Camaro, it was floating nearly a foot off the ground, casting a shadow on poor, unsuspecting squirrels. The dumb animals didn't even move: like Anna and Bennett, they stared wordlessly at the suspended car. Damon rolled up his sleeves, holding out his hand to stabilize his car on the firm ground before he unlocked its doors. Yep: she definitely got him good there.

"What?" He motioned for them to hurry up and pile in. "Don't you see floating cars every day?"

He sure didn't, but then again, he figured it certainly wasn't the strangest he'd seen all week.

 

 

In five years, he would laugh about the circumstances that had led up to this scheme. Time was still a precious luxury for Damon: until the vampires were safely out of his town, he couldn't focus on the big picture. He had journal articles – mostly ones published by Dr. Flemming – to skim, not to mention data to analyze and baby brothers to feed.

Dinner with Stefan was a quiet one. They wordlessly munched on kale salads and baked chicken breasts, glumly glancing down at their reading instead of each other. Stefan had made vague noises about Model UN, while Damon really _did_ read Dr. Flemming's articles.

"Huh," he whistled softly as he skimmed the first article's abstract. "Her name's Isobel too."

"Like Mr. Saltzman's ex-wife?" Stefan glanced up from his readings for the first time that evening. "Wouldn't it be weird if they were the same person?"

"Definitely. They both passed away recently."

The circumstances were rather extraordinary; Dr. Flemming had been mauled to death by the very people she studied. Damon would've pitied her, if she hadn't stood in the crossfire and baited her participants with false promises she didn't intend to keep. As a scientist, she was one of the brightest minds the parapsychology world had ever known. As a person, she was (supposedly) delusional, leaping onto trains of logic that made Misao look sane.

Stefan nodded thoughtfully. "Didn't you want to ask me something?"

"Huh?" Damon furrowed his brow. "Yeah, but—"

Bennett must've told the kid once she returned to school. Damon would never understand that woman's dedication to acting her physical age and returning to high school, over and over again. This wasn't one of Caroline's trashy novels (and for God's sake, he hoped it would never be). 

"But I... nevermind." Damon bit on his lower lip. "How good are you at Latin?"

"Summa cum laude every year on the National Exam?" Stefan snorted. "Good enough. You need something translated?"

"Multiple somethings. Grandpa Giuseppe has a spell I need to un-do, but it's all in Latin." Damon slid his phone across the table. "I figure, you translate, and I'll perform all the magic mumbo jumbo."

Stefan set his food aside, peering down at the photographs Damon had taken earlier. After a few seconds of silence, he broke it by admitting, "This looks like something in one of Bonnie's old books."

"You're kidding."

Bennett had had the solution the whole damn time, and all she offered him was 'sorry, my Latin's rusty?' More importantly, she trusted Stefan with its dusty contents? Stefan was too green to fully immerse himself in this mystical world that held more secrets than answers.

Damon must've been scowling, because Stefan winced as he slid the phone back. "Sorry. She was looking at it during free period, and Elena got curious, so we talked about it."

"Elena doesn't mind talking to her?"

Stefan shook her head. "You keep talking about not trusting vampires, but… Bonnie isn't like the others. She's kind, Damon. I can feel it."

His brother also (usually) had a decent judge of character. Problem was, Damon couldn't trust anyone who mimicked human emotion. The last time he did, his exposed neck had blood wrung from nearby veins – and if Dad hadn't pulled him away in time, Damon wasn't sure where how he would have fared.

"So you said Bennett's got the answers? In that old book of hers?" Damon leaned forward. "You took a picture, right?"

Stefan held out his phone, holding out the photographed page. It wasn't as Stefan had said: Giuseppe had replicated the same pentagram and runes on the faded page, but he had also drawn Aunt Liz's gem in the middle. Damon pressed his lips together.

"No wonder Bennett didn't bother," Damon said, gesturing to the image of the gem. "The answer doesn't exist anymore. See, the circle here's the same – but Aunt Liz's gem was the ticket. You set it in, and the talisman did all the work for you. Without it, you need something else to channel that energy."

"What else could we use?" Stefan looked thoughtful. "I was able to enchant Elena's necklace the other day, but…"

"You what."

Stefan shouldn't have had that raw power, let alone the grace to enchant necklaces with forcefields. Although the recipe was easy enough to memorize, every other factor should've held him off for a solid year. The gem – before it was destroyed – must've given Stefan an extra energy boost. Talismans could accelerate magical ability far beyond someone's year: this, Mom had taught Damon in high school. That had to be it. Any other reason was impossible (not to mention illogical).

"It uh... it wore off after Mr. Saltzman attacked her." Stefan stared down at his feet. "I must've read the spell wrong."

Why did that relieve him? Damon felt his shoulders sag as he finished his dinner. If Stefan was truly a magical prodigy, he should be celebrating his kid brother's achievements, and not sighing with relief that the kid couldn't accomplish the impossible of permanently enchanting a necklace only a month or two into this game.

"What if we use our bodies as a conduit?" Stefan peered at him, trying to keep his hands steady. "I was thinking, if we don't have a talisman, we're the next best thing."

Damon slumped in his seat, shaking his head. "I wouldn't bother."

"Not if we combine our powers! We've got earth, fire, wind, water…."

Damon snorted, rising to his feet and placing the dishes in the sink. "What about heart?"

Stefan scowled. "We're rescuing Anna's mom, not Captain Planet."

"Hey, you never know." Damon shook his head, extending his arms wide as he turned to face Stefan. In response, a flying grimoire almost hit his cheek. Damon held out his hand and resisted the temptation to shoot it back towards his brother. "Seriously, we've got a spell to master."

"Actually…." Stefan rose to his feet, snapping to reclaim his grimoire. "I think you just gave me an idea."

 

In the morning, Bennett and Anna met them again before returning to the tomb's entrance. Stefan pulled Anna aside, just before they walked in.

"Hey, can I ask you something? We need you to specifically do something before we cast the spell."

Anna nodded, her stance suddenly stiffening as she stood up straighter and followed Stefan's gaze down to the open grimoire in his hands. "Um, sure."

While Anna and Stefan were fine-tuning the transmutation with hushed voices, Bennett and Damon were left alone outside the entrance. A few seconds of awkward silence passed. The invisible gulf between them would grow wider and wider unless he said something to bridge the distance, so Damon stared into her green eyes and managed to say, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Bennett looked up from the daisy chain she had been weaving. "For being a jackass? I forgave you for that a long time ago."

"For being a bigot." Damon heaved a sigh, putting a hand on his hips. A few months ago, he couldn't have envisioned apologizing to a bloodsucker. He had poured so much blood, sweat, and tears into returning the pain that their kind had extracted upon the town – only to realize, at the last minute, that he couldn't stomach hurting her. He couldn't stomach the (mockery of an) expression that remained on her features long after the initial remarks. Admitting this, even in private, twisted his stomach into undeniable knots. "I… I don't trust vampires easily. You weren't around in 2002, so you wouldn't have known, but…"

"There were vampires here? In 2002?" Bennett's eyes widened. She furrowed her brow as she finalized her chain, deftly creating a new bracelet in a matter of seconds. "This is the first I've heard of them."

"Yeah, well, they were more interested in Dr. Gilbert and Dad than anyone else. Unsurprising, considering my thesis."

"You mean, studying vampire brainwaves?"

She had known. She had known the entire time, except she hadn't told a single soul. Damon briefly wondered what else she concealed from the world, if she could conceal the location of Giuseppe's grimoire along with the nature of his thesis. Her life wasn't exactly an open book, compared to his.

She hid her smirk behind her hand, holding up a handmade bracelet, embedded with dried daisies. He wordlessly held out his wrist for a fitting, watching silently as she wove the final threads together. Slyly, Bennett admitted, "It wasn't hard to figure your code out, plus you do complain to Grams about it sometimes. That was really your first mistake."

He was half-tempted to take his apology back.

Bennett – no, _Bonnie_ laughed warmly as she tugged on his bracelet that he almost forgot her true age. Lightly, she kissed the edge of his wrist, where it met with his palm, before turning towards the dusty old staircase. "I can't blame you, Salvatore. Not all of us try to be good."

"So? You're putting yourself in what, the category of friendly neighborhood vampire?"

She hummed softly as she led the way. "Maybe. I like the way that sounds too."

He groaned, tempted to run his hands down his entire face. In what parallel dimension did he wreck enough havoc to deserve a persistent shadow like her? (He wanted to retroactively apologize for his past mistakes, whatever got him into this mess, really.)

Anna and Stefan joined them at the edge of the stairs. "We're ready when you are," Anna said.

Stefan nodded, lighting up a small fire with the palm of his hand. Without another word, they descended the stairs again and headed straight for the tomb's entrance.

Before the sealed door, Damon lit the torches again, creating a circle through the fiery ring. Stefan lightly doused the entire circle – and its runes – with a bottle of tap water. Periodically, Damon would glance down at Stefan's phone before tucking it into his brother's jacket pocket. Anna stood to the side, lightly twisting the end of her blood bag.

Bonnie raised an eyebrow at her. "You came prepared."

"I figured she'd be hungry," said Anna softly, almost cradling the blood bag before her attention resumed on the boys. Even centuries-old vampires needed nourishment upon returning to the real world, Damon supposed.

He could feel the pressure mounting on them. Their crazy plan had to work. They had no second chance: this circle had to be transmuted to function properly by adding a fifth element (heart) and ensuring that only one person could connect to those lingering feelings. Only Anna's mother shared her blood, and so only Anna's mother could slice through the chains that held everyone else back. Last night, Stefan had added it to the spell after Damon's joke of an idea.

So it was Stefan who called out, "Anna? Could you please do me the honor?"

Anna nodded, gently kneeling beside him before nicking her wrist. Squeezing those precious few drops of blood out, she held it towards the chalk-stained dirt. It sizzled upon contact, forming its own crimson rune alongside the four others already present. Hastily, Anna leapt back to Bonnie's side and picked up her blood bag again.

"Now or never," Stefan said as he held out trembling hands. 

Damon rubbed his palms on his jeans before he interlocked his fingers with his brother's. "Agreed. Now, repeat after me carefully…"

He bowed his head, murmuring the transmutation spell he and Stefan had concocted earlier. In Latin, they said together, "Connect her to the blood of life, and remove the seal on her that caused so much strife…" (In English, it rhymed. In English, it sounded fantastic. Translating it into Latin or Greek or Giuseppe's damn bastardized language, however, ruined every little nuance.)

The bright fires around them blazed, growing stronger as the earth shook beneath their feet. Inch by inch, the door struggled to move to the other side and- and energy was flowing through every single crevice in his body. Damon could feel the rush of adrenaline kicking as his heart beat faster and faster with each breath. The door stopped, setting onto the ground a few inches from its initial resting place. The second the door brushed against the dirt, Anna rushed into the darkness.

Bonnie reached out towards her, failing to grasp her wrist. "Anna! Hey! Wait up!"

Stefan broke the chant to look at her. "Bonnie, if you go in there, you're not coming out."

She stared at him. "Then… what about….?"

"Why do you think we needed her blood?" Damon laughed hollowly. "The seal is only broken to her and her kindred." In theory, anyhow. They would discover the truth whenever Anna and her mother attempted to cross over the threshold.

For nearly half a minute, Damon could only hear Stefan's steady breathing and the crackling fire that surrounded them. Bonnie's threatening footsteps broke the rhythm as she regarded them with narrowed eyes. "You did _what_?"

"We transmuted the seal." Stefan's voice was dry. "If you're related to Anna, you can get in or out. If you're not? Sucks to be you."

Bonnie growled, just audibly enough to send shivers down Damon's spine. No one dared to speak. Stefan bowed his head and prayed. In Arabic, Stefan mechanically recited the old prayer that they had known so well, to guide them on the straight path of those that received God's grace. Damon uneasily shifted his stance, focusing his attention on the rhythm of his breath rather than old prayers that raised his heart rate (and probably his blood pressure).

Just as Stefan had recited the prayer for the third time, Anna – precariously holding an older woman dressed in a regal red dress – lingered over the threshold. Energy rushed through Damon's fingertips, nearly gaining full control over his muscles as she stepped, inch by inch, closer towards the magical line that divided the door from the outside world.

The second Anna's foot crossed that barrier, Damon's hands let go of Stefan's as he crashed backwards into the opposite side of the wall. He grimaced. (He was so going to feel that tomorrow.) The earth beneath him continued to shake as he struggled to regain control of his muscles. Instead, he stumbled on thin air as the fire continued to blaze brightly. Smoke obscured the entire room.

The woman on Anna's shoulders stared, wide-eyed, at Stefan. "Thomas…? Thomas Avery?"

"Who?" Anna glanced back at the woman. Her cheeks were flushed – no doubt from the extra effort she was extending – and yet, she was still grinning from ear to ear as she adjusted her grip on the woman. "No, Mom, that's Stefan. He's a Salvatore."

The last thing Damon remembered, before his knees caved in on him and he collapsed onto the ground, was Bonnie rushing to his side and kneeling to scoop him up into her arms.

"Damon! Damon? Hang in there!"

Then the fire went out, and the entire world turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! This chapter (and by extension, the rest of this fic) was envisioned long before Lily Salvatore was introduced, so please hang in there. I've started to flesh out Damon's family - more noticeably, his mother along with his cousins Stella & Morie - and eagle-eyed readers may realize that I've changed some details about the Salvatore brothers' ethnicity in this verse! (If Gail had been introduced prior to this fic, I promise, Damon & Stefan's ethnicity would've changed to reflect her as their mother, but as Leila is Jordanian, so too are Damon and Stefan.) 
> 
> As always, your support has been appreciated, so thanks for it all! Please leave kudos or even a review if you especially enjoyed bits (or if you didn't enjoy, feedback of any kind is fantastic for something as ongoing as this) - it helps me figure out how to go with the next few chapters. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!


	17. invitations

The night sky was darker than Damon remembered. Nothing, not even the stars he used to see so clearly, illuminated his path. Extending his hand, Damon stared up at the abyss before a faint, yellow-tinted light emerged from its depths. One by one, stars descended from the sky. Some fell neatly into his hand; others crashed onto the soft earth beneath him.

Was he dead? This didn't feel like the straight path to Paradise (or Hell, for that matter). Death had once been described to Damon as a warm embrace before eternal sleep set in. _Rigor mortis_ would kick in, once the person's soul had crossed into the afterlife. So far, Damon could step forward – he had to, in order to collect the falling stars before their light was extinguished. Stars lingered at the end of the dusty road, where a young woman stood with her back to him. Her palms were curled to catch one or two stars as they fell. This had to be a dream, induced by his spell. 

He faintly recognized the young woman's laugh as Bonnie's. Once he was beside her, she turned to face him. In this dream, she barely resembled her peers. Her black stiletto heels gave her added (and needed) height; her strong, musky perfume reminded him of seedy bar crawls in Allston; and even her tight, form-fitting black jeans accentuated her figure more than mini-skirts would have. While she would never age a day over seventeen, she carried herself as if she were on equal footing with him.

Damon wasn't sure if he could reconcile that as well as she had. Perhaps he too needed time to process it all. His throat tightened as he continued to catch each star, nearly dislocating a shoulder to seize the last one—

A light breeze nearly knocked them out of his palms. He cursed under his breath, in obscenities learnt from cousins the last time he was in Jordan.

Bonnie spoke first, "Not so peaceful out here, is it?"

"Not really." Damon scoffed, staring down at his growing collection of multicolored stars. These should've hurt as they rested on his palms. Stars were technically big balls of gas that humans couldn't hope to touch. They should've hurt; they should've scorched his skin; they should've…

They should've remained in the sky, just like the pieces of his carefully-crafted life. Stefan's biggest priority should've been his upcoming Model UN conference, while Tyler should've only focused on escaping his abusive father. Elena and Jeremy had enough weighing them down with the loss of their parents, and even Matt was trying to survive in a world without blood relatives. None of them deserved the burden of the supernatural on top of their trials. Damon supposed, if he was trying to be the town protector, he wasn't a very good one.

"You think it'll be peaceful if you catch them all." A star slipped through her fingers, dissipating at the edge of her feet. "Salvatore, how long do you think you can keep going?"

"As long as I have to." The kids had become his responsibility. They relied on him, even for the simplest of things, and in turn, he would shield them from the shadows that emerged from the edge of his world. He couldn't stop just because his inner spark was fading. "Why?"

Bonnie's expression softened as she held out her palms and caught some of his overflowing stars. "Do you think you're going to succeed?"

"I _know_ I'm going to."

He didn't need some dream to remind him of his ambitions: he would give everyone a normal life, even at the cost of his own. Holding the stars in one palm, he pulled his hand back and hurled them into the dark, dense sky. Some latched into place, while others threatened to fall back towards Earth. Just like his damn life, with pieces that wouldn't slot themselves into the places he had assigned them. He couldn't shepherd these kids into single-file lines, but unless they could fight alongside them, he would protect them with all he had.

"Is that so?" She was smiling, even as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "Sorry, Salvatore. Guess you're not rid of me just yet."

 

 

When Damon opened his eyes, his ceiling came into focus, particularly the edges where the wood-paneled walls were illuminated with white paper-lantern stars. He'd almost forgotten about them: he didn't often look up, whenever he chose to spend the evening here with his work. Someone had pulled back his navy blue and white chevron curtains to allow the sunlight in, and he could feel a light breeze from the slightly open door that led onto his balcony.

One small problem – how'd he get here? The last thing he remembered, he and Stefan were standing in the middle of the runes and—

Stefan. Damon lurched forward with a wince. His bones ached, no doubt from the surging mana in his veins. Jenna was sleeping on his black leather armchair in the left corner of his room. Nearby, Stefan and Elena were snuggled close on the opposite side of his king-sized bed. Even when the lovebirds shared a bed, they slept on top of one another (literally).

Had Jenna brought him back? Last he checked, Jenna had stayed late at the library to churn out what remained of her thesis. She wouldn't have known of his visit to the old tomb. Elena might've, if Stefan had texted her about it like everything else – but Jenna? Jenna wasn't one of the chains in this supernatural link that had become his life. She couldn't be, when she couldn't defend herself from the smallest of dangers.

There was a light knock at his door. Without further prompting, it slid open as Bonnie peered inside with a tray of food in her hands. "Salvatore! You're awake."

"You're… inside." Damon furrowed his brow, trying to recall if – or when – he had extended a verbal invitation. None came to mind. "How?"

"Stefan invited me in." She glanced in the sleeping kid's direction. "He panicked so much that he just did it, no questions asked."

Damon groaned. (Mom was so going to kill them when she returned.) "He doesn't even own the place."

"The verbal invitation was enough." She tilted her head at him. "You still suspect something?"

"Why didn't you stop me? You knew the talisman was the key to getting Pearl out, but you… you didn't tell me how much energy I'd need to keep that door open."

He must've slept for a long time, if his sleeping beauties were any indication. His shoulders sagged as he turned towards Stefan and pulled the covers over his kid brother. They must've worried too, to bury themselves in his room and watch over him day and night.

Bonnie lowered her gaze as she set the tray on his bedside table. "You genuinely wanted to help. I-I didn't think you were going to complete your fools' errand, much less succeed in keeping the others locked inside."

"Hmph."

"Don't interrupt me," she held up her index finger, the lapis lazuli ring shining in the natural light from his window. "Salvatore, that spell should've killed you. I'm… I don't know how you're alive right now."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Even if his conscience agreed with her, he couldn't voice that insecurity. So she too knew the weight of that spell – and the stinging pain that remained every time he curled his fingers into fists. Stefan, that green novice, hadn't noticed a thing as they'd drafted the spell together. 

"Wait. Bonnie, was that… was that why you hid his grimoire from me? Because you didn't think I'd survive?"

"No." Her warm laughter echoed in his ears as he tried to capture the image of his bloodsucker (finally) looking her age. "I figured you could use the challenge."

"So you were just being an ass." He rolled his eyes, tempted to elbow her as she sat at the foot of his bed and reached for one of his throw pillows. "Remind me to transfer the deed to Mom and Dad when they come back."

Bonnie blinked back surprise. "They're coming?"

"In about two weeks, yeah. For Christmas?"

Bonnie's gaze shifted towards the tassels in her hand. Setting the tassel aside, she pulled one of his pillows close to her chest. "I didn't think your mom celebrated it."

His throat tightened as he glanced at the top of his dresser and the red prayer rug folded neatly in the corner. Normally, he paid it little attention. For most of his life, he had paid his mother's faith so, so little attention: hard to focus on it, when he had shuffled between faiths for two and a half decades. Church won because everyone else attended it. People asked less questions when they saw Stefan and Damon in the wooden pews, and well – the message didn't differ much from what the masjid taught (save for their views on Jesus).

"She doesn't. Not really, with the church stuff." Damon couldn't understand Bennett's reaction. Mom had only strayed from her path once – when she married Dad. "These holidays kind of came with the whole ' _hey I'm marrying a Catholic_ ' thing."

"So do you guys observe Ramadan? Or any of her holidays?"

Ramadan had long since passed – it had been in August this year, ending only on the 21st of September. Bennett had chosen the wrong time of year to worry about that holiday.

"Stefan does. Kind of." If intermittent fasting counted.

The throw pillow nearly burst underneath her arms. She took a deep breath, shoving it aside as she set the tray of food across his lap. Now, Damon could see the warm butternut squash soup and slices of French baguette cut for him.

He furrowed his brow. "Did you actually go to the trouble?"

"Hell no." She guffawed, muffling her voice only when Stefan and Elena turned in their sleep. (They didn't budge an inch, even as they fell into each other's arms.) "Jenna said she got it on the house from the Grill."

Matt must've started to visit one of the counselors at Whitmore. Damon couldn't wager what else would merit free soup, even if he and Jenna were frequent faces at the bar.

Accepting the tray, Damon reached for a spoon and took the first sip. Mm, the Grill had outperformed itself this time. "Speaking of Donovans, how's Vicki doing?'"

"She's good. Kinda bored with the vegetarian lifestyle, but she should be ready to come home by Christmas." Bonnie's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Rehabilitation must've been more difficult than she wanted to admit, and for good reason: Vicki was a walking ad for lifestyle interventions.

"Jeremy misses her, even if he doesn't talk about it much."

Ever since Jeremy had eschewed pills and weed, his entire lifestyle had changed overnight. There were signs of withdrawal – the incessant need for caffeine and headaches during family dinners, but Jeremy never wavered. If Vicki had to disappear because of drugs, then Jeremy vowed to stray from her path. ("I couldn't do that to Elena," he had once said, when he thought Damon couldn't hear him.)

True, the kid wasn't sleeping in this room like everyone else, but Damon also didn't have a lounging place for one tall, gangly teenager. Jeremy must've wandered downstairs some time ago, waiting for everyone to return.

"She'll be back." Bonnie's eyes crinkled as she helped herself to one of Damon's baguette pieces. "Lexi and I've got it down to a science."

Damon didn't doubt it. He hadn't seen her hunt once, and she had been in town for what, four months at this point? Bonnie and Anna had made quite the splash in such a short amount of time, turning the whole town upside down with their agenda. Still, Pearl's words nagged at the back of Damon's brain.

In-between sips of warm, delicious soup, he said, "Hey, Bonnie? Did you know Thomas Avery?"

"I knew a Thomas Salvatore..." She kicked her heels against the edge of his bed. "I don't think it's the same guy, but I guess he's related to you and Stefan somehow."

Somehow. Damon wasn't fond of those implications; he'd have to hunt Pearl down to determine the relationship between his kid brother and Pearl's old acquaintance. "Hopefully not like Katherine's related to Elena."

She rose to her feet, glancing over her shoulder at Damon. "A girl can only hope."

When Jenna finally woke, Damon was reading a book for one of his graduate seminars. Stefan and Elena had shuffled out the door long ago, in search of Chinese take-out and what remained of their English homework. Their worry had been almost adorable: Elena had remained behind while Stefan changed, latching onto Damon's arm as if he would disappear any second.

Stefan, on the other hand, had protested at the thought of leaving Damon all alone at home while he and Elena retrieved dinner. Jeremy, as it seemed, had already headed for the library – and Bonnie had given him a ride over.

("I'm a big boy," Damon had insisted, pulling Stefan into a tight bear hug and resisting the urge to ruffle the kid's hair. "Go. I promise, I'll call if I feel weird.")

As she stretched her arms and let a loud yawn escape her red-tinted lips, Damon couldn't hide his laughter. Jenna never changed.

"Hey!" She yelped, rushing to his side. "You're up! You worried me sick, you know."

"Sorry." He couldn't find the strength to act apologetic, even as he lowered his book to look at her. "Bonnie told me I was out for a while."

"Yeah. I didn't know how to explain it to Jessalyn." Jenna furrowed her brows as she pushed his bangs out of his face. "So I just said it was a family emergency slash you were totally out of commission."

Damon groaned. "I won't be able to take Christmas off at this rate."

"Sure you will. It's a legal holiday." Jenna's lips tugged upwards as she glanced back at the hallway. "Hey, by the way. When were you going to tell me Bonnie was into you?"

He tilted his head at her. "She is?"

Jenna raised an eyebrow, just the one, as she leaned back into his leather armchair. "You didn't know? I thought you were into her too."

"Not really. Besides, she's a minor."

"Could've fooled me." When Jenna got into one of these armchair psychology moods, there was no stopping her. Damon didn't have the energy to fight her - and her scarily accurate analyses of his inner turmoil - either. "Do you know what you sound like when you're into someone? Hell, what you look like?"

He snorted. "And you do?"

"You did date me for a couple of months." She shrugged, all nonchalantly, as she curled up with her knees underneath her. "I've also known you since kindergarten. I'd hope I'd remember what that looked like."

Damon couldn't argue with that logic. When Jenna and Mason were concerned, he remembered even the tiniest of details, from Mason's favorite drink to Jenna's order of cheese fries. Some things had remained constant: for instance, Mason's obsession with true crime shows. Others – such as Jenna's inane love for boy bands - had disappeared with the passing of time.

"College could've changed that," he pointed out, sitting cross-legged. "You weren't around for Andi or Meredith."

"Didn't have to be. You still called, the night before your first big date." She sounded so smug that he wanted to punch her. Wanted to, because she was completely and totally right – he had called, all frantic, because he needed her advice back then. "Just like Bonnie called, when you wouldn't wake up from your big coma-thing."

"She did?" He felt like a parrot, but nothing in his life was making sense anymore. "Weren't you at the library?"

Jenna gave him the loudest of sighs. "You're more important than my thesis. You always have been, you big dummy."

"If I'm a dummy, doesn't that make you one too?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You're missing the point. Bonnie cares about you. A lot. I was wondering what was up with that."

Hell if he knew. Perhaps he had the lingering aura of his ancestor, from when dear great-grandpa had decided to play Grand Theft Me. Perhaps she had changed her mind when he had decided to save Anna's beloved mother. Or perhaps she owed Mom a debt from something in the 90's. The possibilities were almost endless, with truths that would change with each route. Damon didn't feel like wandering down those paths now.

He shrugged. "You'd have to ask her. Though, speaking of high-schoolers, when's Jeremy coming back?"

"Soon. He's with Anna and her mom. They visited earlier, while you were Sleeping Beauty."

Pearl visited him? Damon couldn't believe it. Jeremy, sure – the kid idolized him – but neither Anna nor her mother had any reason. Bloodsuckers (usually) didn't believe in debts and keeping score.

He must've looked as surprised as he felt, because Jenna added, "Alaric sends his love, but he's drowning in paperwork. He said he'd visit you tomorrow."

"You can't help him out?" Damon raised his eyebrows suggestively. "He'd appreciate the motivation."

Jenna threw a pillow in his direction. "Not that kind of motivation!"

Damon laughed as he finally got out of bed and pulled a college t-shirt from his dresser. Sure, he didn't fully trust Alaric. The guy hunted vampires for sport and couldn't tell identical strangers apart. It wasn't a winning combination. But Jenna cared deeply for Alaric, and Alaric seemed to reciprocate her affection. As long as Alaric didn't break her heart, Damon could begrudgingly allow the guy into his social circle. After all, the guy couldn't exactly hang out with his students.

"Are you changing? In front of me?" Jenna sounded almost amused as she closed her eyes. "Damon Mansour Salvatore…"

He snorted. "You've never cared before." As he changed into his t-shirt and tugged it over his torso, his eyes lingered on the scorched hems of his black jeans. Aw, and he actually liked that pair too.

"There's a first time for everything," she quipped, hiding a yawn with her hand.

Damon rummaged through his belongings for his phone (buzzing with at least twenty messages from Mason, all with some variation of his girl troubles with Kathy) before he motioned for Jenna to follow him out the door. "With you?" He teased as they descended the stairs to join the others. "Not really."

The kids fussed over him too much. Jeremy wouldn't let Damon lift a finger, instead fixing his plate while Elena poured him a glass of water. Even Stefan brewed the earl grey after dinner, smacking Damon's wrist when he had reached for the electronic tea kettle.

"Nope, you're relaxing tonight," Jenna had said with a frown as she got chocolate chip cookies from the pantry. "No ifs and buts."

They'd even taken his paperwork away from him, locking it in Stefan's room for a whole 48 hours. The effort was touching at first. Two nights in, he was starting to feel like a prisoner in his own home, chained by boredom and non-stop Netflix marathons (and no bourbon whatsoever). Monday morning couldn't come soon enough.

 

 

For the first time in months, Damon was looking forward to his looming stacks of paperwork and data sets. When he stepped into his lab that Monday morning, Jessalyn dropped her stack of paperwork onto the nearest table, rushing and embracing him with her entire heart.

"Don't you dare worry me like that again," she had whispered into his ear.

Damon struggled to laugh – she was nearly suffocating him! – as he patted her on the back and returned the embrace. Jessalyn hugs were affectionate, kind of like getting wrapped in a Jessalyn-flavored burrito, but her warmth remained long after she had let go.

"I won't," he promised.

"Good." She gestured towards the data sets. "Megan's out, so you'll need to code these."

He rolled his eyes in response. Nothing had changed, even after his long (and unwarranted) absence. As he settled in, Misao slid a bag of chocolate his direction. Wes even gave him a silent fist-bump of support before he retreated to microbiology slides.

This kind of work, Damon could handle. It was tedious and long, but when he was coding data, he didn't have to think about the outside world. He didn't have to apply concepts to the supernatural realm. He just had to plug in numbers and stare at graphs of vampire brainwaves. It, unlike everything else in his world, made sense. Long after everyone else had gone home for the day, he had opted to stay behind and finish this last data set. In the reflection of his laptop screen, he noticed a familiar shadow lingering at the door.

So he called to it as he saved his data, "I thought you had in-service today?"

"I finished early, and I figured I'd surprise you and Jenna." Alaric stepped forward, craning his head to better see Damon's screen. "Oh, you're into parapsychology too?"

"Too?" Damon closed his laptop, turning to face his acquaintance. "Your degree was in American History, wasn't it?"

"My master's, yeah," Alaric said, his gaze shifting to the thick file drawers in Damon's office. "But my wife's was in parapsychology. She ate this stuff up like candy."

A shiver went down Damon's spine. "You don't mean… your wife was Isobel _Flemming_?"

"The one and only."

The world clicked into place as Damian studied Alaric again. Alaric still wore his older, ornate silver wedding ring, and his world-weary expression betrayed his boyish looks and informal attire. Their marriage was short-lived, but Damon had heard the love in Alaric's voice loud and clear.

Alaric's eyes even twinkled as he pulled up a chair and sat next to Damon. "I know what you're thinking. You were super into her research, huh?"

Damon shrugged. "Kind of. Her work made my life easy - since, you know, I could cite it all in my papers and get academic credibility."

A warm, genuine smile graced Alaric's face. "Now that's something I don't hear every day. You research vampires too?"

"Just their brainwaves." Damon reached into his pocket for his keys, motioning for Alaric to join him as he locked the lab for the night. "My whole thesis centers on old data from the 50's, and if vampires really can feel certain emotions, or if they're just faking it for their prey."

Alaric walked in-step. "I'll have to read it when you're done. Is the rest of your lab the same, or…?"

"It varies. We deal with different aspects of the supernatural, Plus it's all couched in normal-people language, so that it gets funding outside Augustine." Damon hummed thoughtfully as they turned the corner and headed outside. "Wes focuses on their microbiota; Jessalyn deals with witches' brains; Misao focuses on shapeshifters like werewolves and fox gods; and our interns smile and nod."

"Sounds about right."

At this hour, most students were shuffling to various dining halls on campus, while graduate students were heading home for the evening. Jenna usually didn't spend the night here, so Damon figured that the lovebirds had a date planned nearby.

"So, uh, where were you going to meet Jenna again?"

"Just outside the Thai place. Jade Harbor or something. You want to join us?"

Damon wrinkled his nose. "I think I'll pass this time."

He had to hurry home anyways. Stefan was waiting for him. They rarely had dinner apart, even if their conversations were brief. Damon couldn't bring himself to ditch his brother, even if it was for a good cause.

Alaric craned his head towards East Campus as they approached it. "Jenna said it should be somewhere around here…"

"She didn't give you directions?" Damon snorted. "Sounds like her. Here, I'll lead the way."

 

 

Without him, Damon suspected that Alaric would've taken an additional fifteen minutes to reach Jade Harbor. While Whitmore had no shortage of restaurants to satisfy their students' hunger, the Thai restaurant was tucked away on East Campus behind the Quad, and centrally located across from the main library. It wasn't neatly labeled like the others, even though its bright neon sign screamed its presence once they grew close to it.

Jenna was waiting outside the door, leaning against the wall as she scrolled through messages on her phone.

"Jenna!" Alaric called as he and Damon approached her.

She laughed, rushing into Alaric's arms and resting her head on his shoulder. "Hey! There're my boys!"

"Two of them, anyhow," Damon corrected, though Jenna's energy was pretty contagious. "The third's joining us for Christmas."

"Ah, yes, the infamous Mason Lockwood," Alaric said, lightly kissing Jenna on the cheek. "I can't wait to meet the real deal."

Jenna and Damon exchanged mischievous glances. In two short weeks, nearly everyone from their old circle would descend upon Mystic Falls for the most commercialized holiday of the year. Mason regularly orchestrated a Secret Santa for everyone in their circle – and this year, even Alaric would join in some festivities before returning to his parents in Boston.

("Technically, you're from Foxborough," Damon had corrected, when Alaric insisted on telling Jenna he was a Bostonian.

Alaric had elbowed him. Hard.)

"Make sure not to laugh if Mason orders a Sprite on the rocks. It's his favorite," Jenna was telling Alaric as they opened the door.

Alaric's bemused expression couldn't begin to make up for the normalcy Damon had craved. Alaric gestured to Damon to join them. "You sticking around, Damon?"

He shook his head. "Nah. I'll catch up with you later."

A promise was a promise, even if it wasn't one he had intended to keep this long.

 

 

On his way back home, there was a new store in Town Square. A newly opening store in Mystic Falls, especially one near the Grill, was rare enough to pique Damon's curiosity. He peered up at the dark blue awning, and just above it, the navy blue, intricate cursive lettering that read 'The Velvet Room.' Sending a quick text to Stefan, telling him to warm up what remained of their Chinese take-out, he headed inside - even if they weren't open for business, he could still talk to whoever owned the place.

Bonnie was standing at the front counter with slumped shoulders. To the dark-haired woman behind the counter, Bonnie was saying, "You're going to give people the wrong impression. The Velvet Room? That sounds like a bad porno."

Damon had to admit, Bonnie had a point. If this were the town's newest pharmacy, the Velvet Room wouldn't indicate that – especially as an independent store that would fight larger corporations like CVS or Walgreen's.

"I'd change it," he agreed as he approached them.

"Not happening." Anna didn't even look up from her work on the other side of the room. Standing on her tiptoes, she filled a white shelf with various glass vials and empty plastic, orange-tinted bottles.

The dark-haired woman at the counter, on the other hand, raised her head to better look at Damon. In her long sundress and black cardigan, and with her hair loosely tied in a bun, Pearl barely resembled the gaunt woman Damon had seen a few days ago. Her dark eyes were full of light, and a lapis lazuli amulet prominently hung around her neck.

Bonnie twirled her finger in her curls. "If he's agreeing, you really should reconsider."

Damon resisted the impulse to give them both aneurysms. "Hey, Anna. I thought you were leaving town?"

Anna smiled thinly at him. "I changed my mind."

"Why? A Gilbert-shaped reason?" Even a blind man could've noticed the ever-growing tension between her and Jeremy at Career Night. Whatever their relationship was, or would be, Damon was certain it wasn't platonic.

"Two Gilbert-shaped reasons," Pearl said, shaking her head at her daughter before she turned towards the newly-sanded shelves on the wall behind them. "We think Katherine may have enough incentive to return, if Jeremy's sister is her mirror image."

"Yeah, about that…" Damon sighed. "Why would you protect this place? You've got no good reason to."

"Mom and I helped found Mystic Falls," Anna explained as she continued her work. "The Founding Families took that away from us, and while I'm not really keen on revenge… Katherine might be."

Katherine, Katherine, Katherine. Her name was enough to set him on edge, and he hadn't even met the damn woman yet. Distracting himself from his inner rage, Damon peered up at the bottles on the newly-painted shelves.

"You're selling safflower?" His gaze then fell onto each bottle on the row. "Doesn't look like you're setting up a pharmacy, Pearl."

Anna stared at him. "You… know what these are?"

"Sure I do." Damon smirked, folding his arms. "Why wouldn't I? Safflower oil, purslane, crushed anemone… those are all essential ingredients for Jabirian alchemy."

Bonnie leaned forward on the counter. "I might've forgotten to tell you, Pearl – Giu's descendant's obsessed with synthesizing things."

"Is that so?" Pearl tapped her chin as she turned towards a box of vials. "Maybe you could give me a recipe for a healing elixir, Damon. If you've got the right ingredients, I'd certainly believe your claims."

"Sure." He knew a challenge when he heard one. "Let me see the box?"

Anna slid it to him, peering down at the contents of each vial. Pearl had neatly labeled each glass vial with its contents, ranging from crushed anemone to even stardust water, lemon zest, and mulberries.

Healing elixirs were the backbone of his family's spells. They didn't rely on them as heavily as other alchemists - not when they could heal with the lightest touch of their fingers. They were also one of the easiest things to synthesize in the workshop (or in Damon's case, the kitchen). Even Stefan had learnt how to concoct a few, back when Damon was able to give him a proper lesson or two. Damon rummaged through the large plastic box, inspecting each vial before he set five down on the counter.

"Let's say you want to cure a stomachache. You'd synthesize an elixir from ginger root, hot water, fennel seeds, and a hint of anise." He paused, separating the last two vials from the ginger, anise, and fennel.

"But if we're talking supernatural-type remedies? Like a werewolf bite? You'd want crushed wolfsbane, lemon zest for taste, and stardust water. Maybe an alchemist's mana, if you want to be over-prepared."

Pearl stared at him, then at the vials he had set aside. Damon squirmed under her predator's gaze, tempted to clamp a hand over his neck. Surely she wouldn't feed on him here, in the middle of her brand-new pharmacy. She wouldn't lack that many brain cells, especially if she wanted to cater to the only alchemists in town. For what felt like forever, the silence between them threatened to engulf everyone.

Just when Damon figured he should leave, Pearl broke the silence with a sigh of relief. "Well done."

Bonnie grinned triumphantly. "You really are your mother's son, Salvatore."

Pearl reached for the three vials – of crushed wolfsbane, lemon zest, and stardust water – and placed them into a simple, black draw-string pouch. "Here."

Damon accepted the pouch, staring at the white embroidery along its edges. "You're giving them to me? For free?"

"Why not? You've proven your alchemic mettle." Pearl's smile reached her eyes this time. "I haven't seen a practitioner of Jabirian alchemy in over a century, and to think, two of them live in Mystic Falls."

Bennett looked impressed as she leaned on his shoulder. "You might need that elixir someday. I figure, you might as well accept it."

"And what, be in your debt?"

"I believe I'm still in yours," Pearl admitted, biting on her lower lip to prevent laughter from spilling out of her lips. "Consider this part of my payment to you."

If she really believed in evening the score and repaying him for her immortal existence, then perhaps he could ask her some of his burning questions. Damon leaned on the counter. "Hey, Pearl? Think you could tell me about Thomas Avery?"

Pearl's expression darkened as she turned towards the back door. "Maybe. Come here tomorrow, and we'll talk."

There was a sinking feeling in Damon's stomach as he tucked the drawstring pouch into his jeans pocket. If this wasn't the time or place to discuss Stefan's mirror image, Damon wasn't sure when would be right.

"Thanks," Damon said, out of habit as he headed back to his car.

Bonnie followed him out, calling, "I'll be there too, Pearl!"

Even though they were surrounded by people on their walk back to the parking lot, they might as well have been the only people in town. Nearly twenty seconds passed as Damon climbed into his car and listened to their idle chatter and normal-seeming worries; compared to brazen vampires, even romantic drama was a refreshing escape.

"You're not really good at this relaxing thing," Bonnie remarked as Damon revved up the engine. "Didn't everyone say to take it easy?"

"Can't afford to."

The world might as well implode on him: neither Anna nor Bonnie wanted to leave, Thomas Avery might be Stefan's identical stranger, and Mason's girl troubles with Kathy kept worsening by the hour. (Well, the latter was easier to handle than the rest - especially if all Kathy wanted was a night out on the town.)

"Mm." Bonnie glanced at the stack of books in the back of his car. "Good luck with that."

"School's the easy part. It's everything else that's ridiculous," Damon groaned, following her gaze towards his never-ending pile. To think, just a few months ago, he had thought his thesis would be the thing that killed him. If only he could turn back the clock and focus solely on his work - life was a hell of a lot simpler then.

She snorted, stepping to the side so he could drive home. "Welcome to my life."


	18. disappointments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two and a half years of research and a hundred and fifty pages of work, Damon realizes that he had been wrong about vampires (and Ms. Bonnie Bennett) the whole time.

Pearl had given Damon twenty-four hours to wait before she shed light on Thomas Avery - and those hours felt like an eternity. He couldn't concentrate, not on item synthesis when he'd arrived home, not on text messages to Mason, and not even on his lab work. He would stare at the clock and bite the edge of his tongue as the minutes barely slipped by his fingers. This was almost surreal: he couldn't imagine the day where he'd rush home to Mystic Falls, population six thousand-something. Whitmore had way more going on, and yet - the Velvet Room beckoned. 

So at six PM sharp, Damon opened the front door of the Velvet Room and inhaled the scent of fresh paint. Jeremy and Anna were giggling by the south wall as they raced to finish the intricate, navy blue and white mural behind them. The strong navy-blue patterns with black edges contrasted against the white walls and shelves, creating an almost ephemeral space that reminded Damon less of a pharmacy and more of an alchemist's workshop. From the looks of it, the store was almost ready to open. The walls were almost fully painted; the shelves were freshly sanded; and the final details were falling into place. If Pearl could refrain from sipping on her clients, he could (maybe) tolerate her and her abundant synthesis supplies.

Pearl and Bonnie walked through the back door a minute later. As Bonnie's eyes met Damon's, her cheeks grew a faint red – no doubt about something scandalous. Jeremy and Anna took one look at Bonnie and Pearl before abandoning their paintbrushes and scurrying off with loud promises about getting some dinner. (Weird.)

Damon folded his arms at them. "Cat got your tongue, Bennett?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You wish."

"Sorry we kept you, Damon." Pearl hid a laugh as she pulled up three bottles of water. "We had a lot of catching up to do."

He cast a wary glance at the bottles before he shook his head. Pearl might've meant well, but for all he knew, those bottles could've been laced with a sleeping drought. He snapped his fingers, levitating his bottle back onto a shelf. "It's fine. I don't have time, so I'll cut to the chase – how do you know Thomas Avery?"

"He was a resident here, many years ago." Pearl took a deep breath as she reached into her purse. "When we first crossed paths, it was he who mentioned this place to me and Katherine. If we wanted a new town, this would be a good chance to start over."

She pulled out a few old, worn photographs with crinkled edges and placed them on the counter. Although the grayscale had faded into yellow over the years, Damon could still make out Stefan's distinctive smile. Salvatore family photographs from the 1800's, and yet, some things never changed. Stefan's mirror image held a younger Giuseppe in his lap in one particular photograph – and the second Bonnie saw it, her face lost its color.

"He looks exactly like Stefan," Bonnie said, her voice growing drier with each word.

Pearl replied, "Probably because he was related to them."

"How?" Damon furrowed his brow as he reached into his messenger bag for his ancestor's dumb diary. "Giuseppe's older brother was Thomas Salvatore, right? Was Avery's the guy's middle name or something?"

"Most likely." Pearl's voice grew solemn as she elaborated, "He never told me he was related to one of the Founding Families. I would've… I would've mentioned it if I had known."

"Then what did you know about him?" Bonnie leaned forward. "I remember bits and pieces – his laugh, his affinity for breakfast food, but not much else."

(Of all the things he expected to share with a distant ancestor, a love of breakfast was not one of them.)

"He was like Damon. A talented warlock, with an uncanny ability to concoct elixirs at a moment's glance – and ready to face the world head-on." Pearl managed the thinnest of smiles as she regarded Damon. "Nothing could stop him, even if the odds were heavily stacked against him. He'd fight to the finish, and he would win... but he wouldn't leave a soul behind, no matter what."

This might've been the first time a bloodsucker praised his family. Damon couldn't remember a time where they had fond memories of a warlock (or an alchemist, if he counted the other half of his family). Vampires and magic didn't go hand-in-hand. Perhaps alchemy danced on the outskirts of that time-old tale, when it didn't always require magic to heal the sick or treat the wounded. He was way more used to insults and curses on the family name, not... respect. The world was seriously turning on his axis, and he wasn't sure where he stood anymore. 

Damon dared to say, "You said elixirs. Did that mean he was like me?"

Pearl tilted her head to the side. "Not naturally, no. Books taught him the basics, and he devoured every book devoted to medicine at the time. Magic wasn't as… innate for him, when we were friends. You and Stefan, on the other hand, can cast spells as if it were second nature."

"Don't inflate his sorry ego," Bonnie said with a snort. "So how come Thomas asked you and Katherine to come here? Couldn't he take you in himself?"

"He didn't have the financial means. He couldn't house Katherine, and I couldn't ask him to aid me and Anna when he had his own problems. Since he couldn't claim his inheritance, he thought his father might be a better person to ask." Pearl reached out for Bonnie's hands and lightly held them in her own. "I'm sorry, Bonnie. I should've guessed that this was all connected."

"It's alright. "I'm sure Katherine's just as interested in Stefan as she is in Elena, then." Bonnie squeezed Pearl's hands tight.

Damon scowled at the thought. No one – not even Elena's mirror image – would lay a finger on his brother. Stefan was dealing with enough trauma without adding a vampire shadow twin (doppelganger?) to the mix.

"She'd better not be. I'm not in the mood to fry her brain," Damon said, staring down at the photographs. 

"Like she'd let you," Bonnie retorted, though her tone was teasing as she jumped over the counter to him. "Jesus, Salvatore, I thought you were smarter than that."

In another life, he might have deserved that. In this one, he was taking extra (and necessary) precautions to fight vampires who loomed in the shadows of two people he loved more than anything else in the world. If Katherine wanted to fight his little brother, Damon would raise the gates of Hell to welcome her home.

Shrugging as nonchalantly as possible, Damon turned towards the front door. "You don't have to work with me, remember?"

"No one else is half as entertaining," she said, following him out without a second thought. "Which, by the way – I thought you were working on your thesis? Cause it's due pretty soon?"

He groaned. "You had to remind me."

"I also want you to graduate." She reached into his pocket for his car keys, reaching a little too far in before she held them between her fingers. "Let's get going. The sooner we get home, the sooner you can finish it."

She had a point. A terrible, terrible point, because he really _did_ need to edit the conclusion before Jessalyn or Wes could look over it. He reached out to take his keys back. "You're coming home with me?"

"Where else am I gonna go? Grams won't return from her conference til tomorrow morning, and you can't expect a girl to fend for herself, can you?"

She had to wink at him with those cute tiny fangs. Damon sighed, resigning himself to his fate and heading home with her. Even if he denied her the ride, she would waltz through the front door, whether he liked it or not. Best to give in while he's ahead. 

 

 

At Casa Salvatore, dinners were a family tradition. If Damon couldn't cook, then Stefan would order take-out for them to share. Or Stefan would warm up leftovers and chop up a salad, because Stefan's cooking ability wasn't quite up to par. Tonight had been the latter: Stefan had already set out two bowls of pasta and salad, and was pouring two cups of fruit juice as Damon and Bonnie walked in through the back door.

"Oh! Hey, Bonnie." Stefan summoned another glass with his fingers and levitated it across the table. "You want some orange juice? Or apple juice? Cranberry?"

Damon tapped his foot against the floor. "Stefanizo…"

"What? She's company, and you're always telling me to treat our guests well."

"I think he means the magic thing," Bonnie added, accepting the glass and pouring herself a cup. "I know, and Damon knows, but I'm pretty sure your neighbors don't."

Stefan blinked back surprise, allowing a moment of discomfort before he looked back at her. "Probably not. So, uh, help yourself. We've got more than enough."

"Don't mind if I do."

When they had guests, Damon and Stefan bent over backwards to accommodate their needs. Mom had always insisted upon it, this idea of dropping your entire world to give them a good time - except Bonnie remained in the fringes, preferring to eat (and drink) what was already set out on the counter.

"I already drank," she insisted, when Stefan thumbed towards the woods near their backyard. "This is more than enough for me."

Damon had fully expected an awkward hour, stuffed with small talk and meaningless questions about the weather. Instead, Stefan and Bonnie talked about school, their teachers (including Alaric), and even about Stefan's upcoming (and super-intense) Model UN conference. As they cleaned up the dishes and put what remained of the salad in the fridge, they had almost fallen into a routine - with Stefan drying the dishes, Damon wiping down the counters, and Bonnie loading up the dishwasher. Almost, because the spell broke with the ringing of Damon's phone alarm.

"Go and finish your thesis," Stefan said, drying his hands with the nearest dish towel. "I've got things from here."

They hurried upstairs, leaving Stefan to finish the rest. Once they were out of earshot, Bonnie had to ask, "He doesn't mind? I thought you two always cleaned up together."

"He knows how much this matters to me." Damon hadn't expected this either, Gratitude colored his voice, even if he hadn't meant to. "Don't you need to get home soon, anyways?"

She scrunched up her whole face at him. "You're studying my brainwaves for your paper, right? The least I could do is to see if you're doing it right, so. I'm reading your thesis."

His thesis. His big, looming thesis that he had to complete to earn a master's degree. Under other circumstances, Damon wasn't sure he would've continued his education. This constant, monotonous work wasn't in his DNA.

He wasn't Stefan: he didn't thrive on obscure academic research, nor did the ivory towers accept nerds of his caliber. According to video games club, he wasn't a "real" nerd, because real nerds wanted to escape to distant, fantasy worlds. Real nerds wanted to fight alongside RPG characters in desperate quests to save the universe. But real nerds were the lucky ones. They could close their books or turn off their Gamestations and return to a mundane existence. They didn't thrash in their sleep, fretting about real monsters that threatened to rip their loved ones apart. And they sure didn't realize that their real world was more extraordinary than boring. 

Damon never asked for this life. He was supposed to travel the world instead of watching time slip through his fingers. The real world fascinated him more than any video game (even if he didn't own a gunblade).

So he caved to her - the one immortal girl interested in his research - and handed over his massive stack of red-stained papers. She curled up at the foot of the bed with them and a green pen. While she read, he sat on the floor, his laptop open as he double-checked his citations. He hadn't even finished the first page of references when he heard the paper shake in her hands.

"Damon?"

He glanced up from his work. "Yeah?"

Even now, Bonnie was ignoring his personal space as she sat next to him. Her speed had given her an (unfair) advantage– she had read the first ten pages in what would've taken someone else two pages. She threw the stack of papers onto the floor. "I changed my mind." 

He let out a soft laugh. "Figured as much."

She got down beside him and rested her arms across his shoulder. She had enough confidence to fill the entire Manor, with unrivaled energy that reminded him of his former ambitions. Sometime between college and now, he must have extinguished that drive to travel- because he couldn't remember the last time he saw it in the mirror. 

Bonnie asked, "Why do you think vampires can't feel anything?"

"Those were our results," he said, tempted to pull that section out of his thesis and toss it back in her face. "At the end of the Augustine study, we tested their brainwaves – and nothing. We got absolutely nothing."

In his discussion, he had pointed out that vampires mimicked emotions they once remembered. The older they grew, the less likely they could tap into those memories, and thus, the more dangerous they became. They couldn't recall their purpose in life, when their existence wasn't regulated by the flow of time. They could achieve the impossible. When they could defy time and physics, they sure didn't need to co-exist with humans. They were predators, and humans their unwitting prey.

Quietly, so quietly he had to be imagining it, she said, "Your results are wrong."

"Wrong?"

He hadn't spent two whole years to be wrong. He hadn't spent sleepless nights in the lab to be wrong. He hadn't wasted all this time to learn, at the very last second, that he had misinterpreted decades of hard work – because while academia wasn't in his DNA, he was still searching for a higher purpose. One that didn't involve caring for little brothers or reinforcing what he had already known. If this entire hundred-page paper was wrong, then he would have to return to the drawing board – and he couldn't do that. He was already wasting away in an ivory tower, and this paper was supposed to set him free. 

"Wrong." Her brow furrowed as she peered down at his ink-stained hands and the red smudges that had appeared along the edges of his forearm. "I feel everything. Even the things I don't think I'm supposed to feel."

"Like what?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

She rested a hand on his heart and listened to the sound of his racing heartbeat. "That."

What was she getting at? That her mere presence made his heart beat faster? No one had been this forward with him in a while. Misao was too busy with her Shinchi, Wes had his fifty million cats, and Jessalyn had a husband that Damon had yet to meet. Even when Jenna dragged him to the bar, most people assumed she was his girlfriend. He wasn't on the market, even when he was.

"No, you're wrong."

She snorted. "Prove it."

If she wanted real, sincere proof, then he would give it to her. Bloodsuckers couldn't understand affection. They could imitate it. They could seduce their victims, all in the name of a yummy meal. (Wasn't that why Jenna asked if she was into him? Because Bonnie was interested in him far more than a regular teenage girl had any right to be?) So he leaned in, setting his laptop aside, and brushed his lips against hers. She tasted of sweet citrus, just as his hazy memory remembered. He should have pulled back then, to gloat over her flushed face and declare himself the victor.

Except he didn't. She had stared at him with those flushed cheeks before she tugged on his shirt and returned the affection.

His heart beat faster and faster as he closed his eyes and wrapped an arm around her waist, resting his hand on the small of her back. Her hands gravitated towards the back of his neck, holding him tight as they continued the kiss.

He pulled back only to gulp another breath of air. Bonnie's hands wandered under his shirt, tugging at it as he helped her pull it off. They were impossibly, impossibly close – and once his shirt was off, she fell into his lap and pulled his hands just above her breasts. Damon should've recoiled – he was raised better than this – and yet he still found himself listening for her heartbeat.

It was beating as fast as his.

"If we didn't feel anything, would my heart rate have changed?" She licked her lips, her gaze falling towards his own.

Perhaps. Perhaps not. Wes had noted, back when he and Damon were working on a paper together, that vampires and humans' shared roughly the same physiology. The only real difference, Damon remembered, was their suppressed pain receptors. Humans' brains reacted faster than vampires' – so logically, vampires couldn't feel pain, or love, or any other emotion triggered by touch. According to Wes's research, her heart rate shouldn't have changed. Her brain could remember the longing touch from her human days – but she couldn't (shouldn't) be this affected by his touch.

Caving to his temptation, he brushed his lips against her forehead, her eyelids, and even the tip of her adorable nose. The blood was definitely rushing towards his cheeks now – and he couldn't care less.

"I'd hope not," he whispered as she kissed the edge of his unshaved stubble. "You… keen on… disproving me, Bennett?"

Her lips wandered down the side of his body, lightly pressing kisses against the edge of his torso. God, when was the last time this happened? He couldn't remember, beyond hazy nights in his dorm room on the 18th floor, with suitemates drowning out his pleasure with the cheesiest songs they could find. But this wasn't some night of pleasure induced by cheap booze. This was right before his thesis's due date, and he was – he needed to – aw, forget it. His thesis could wait a little longer. Just as she kissed the edge of his torso, her fingers threatening to pull his jeans off, she pulled back and bared her tiny fangs at him.

"You're not the only one who feels, Salvatore."

So he pulled her onto the floor with him, wrestling with her clothes, fumbling until he snapped his fingers and pulled her blouse off with invisible threads of magic. She gasped, watching as the shirt rolled off his hands and onto his wooden floor.

"I know I'm not," he replied, his throat tightening as his hands continued to wander down her body.

He wasn't a dumb teenage boy trying to cop a feel – he was a graduate student who knew way better. Bonnie may have had one foot in the hallowed halls of Mystic Falls High, but she had long since left those days behind too. She made no pretense of shoving his hands under her breasts, allowing him to cup them as he— He kissed her lips again, savoring their sweet taste and remembering the literal fireworks that had blazed over the night sky. He wasn't Giuseppe, and yet he was, in this moment of remembering what wasn't his.

As she pushed off his jeans, with that stupid sultry smile of hers, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

He was doing all of this with Bonnie. Bonnie freaking Bennett, the immortal vampire who still passed for a seventeen year old girl. As he attempted to rise to his feet – and crashed against his bed – he winced, ignoring the throbbing pain in the back of his head.

Bonnie held out her wrist, only for him to push back as he snapped his fingers and pulled their clothes back on. His shirt was now rumpled; his hair was a sorry mess; and even his rug was crooked as he stared at his (disgusted, disgruntled) reflection in the mirror. Bonnie's shiny lipgloss had smeared his face, no matter how much he tried to scrub it off with his shirt.

"I-I should probably go." Take a cold shower too, while he was at it. As he turned towards the door, he paused as he stared up at his paper-lantern stars. This was his bedroom. She had invaded his personal space – even if he hadn't minded – rather than the opposite way around.

Bonnie took a deep breath, sniffing the collar of her blouse and hiding the faintest of smiles as she inhaled their intermingled scents. "No, I… I think I'll go." She shuffled towards the door, tugging on her jeans until they sat snug around her waist. "I shouldn't have…"

Stefan's voice cut across the hall loud and clear, "Day? Bonnie?"

Opening the door with a snap of his fingers, Damon watched Bonnie rush out, disappearing in a gust of wind. Stefan spun, struggling to hold his own as he leaned against Damon's doorway for support.

"I heard something fall." Stefan furrowed his brow. "Is everything okay?" 

"I'm fine." He gritted his teeth, wiping off the last bits of lip gloss with tissues – the faint pink hue had wiped off a long while back, but the glitter was determined to hang on until the very end. "She uh… she wasn't a big fan of my thesis."

Understatement of the year. She had disregarded Wes's research, the Augustine study – hell, even Isobel's findings – all for proving that touch increased her heart rate. His thesis was wrong, and it was too late to change it before he defended it to the Augustine Society. (Just his damn luck.)

Stefan sighed as he dared to step inside. "That bad?"

Once again, Damon had failed Stefan. He didn't need to see his kid brother to know. That pity was louder than his heartbeat. Damon had once again taken Stefan's hopes and dreams and thrown them to the winds – and for what? A stupid kiss, or whatever the hell that had been in his bedroom? He sniffed the edge of his shirt – it still smelt like sweet citrus.

Against his better judgment, Damon took a deep breath and turned to smile at his kid brother. "I'll survive. Hey, didn't you say you had a Tyler story for me?"

Stefan returned the smile. "The better question – when don't I have one?"

"Never, I hope." Damon allowed himself a laugh as he followed Stefan downstairs and back into their kitchen. Inhaling its clean scent of fresh air – and the warm feel of the tea kettle as Stefan brewed a cup of green tea – he sank into the nearest barstool and summoned their favorite mugs. "What happened this time? He bit off more than he could chew?"

"He tried to challenge Bonnie to a game of arm-wrestling," Stefan admitted, snapping his fingers and commanding the kettle to pour two cups for them.

Damon could imagine the scene now: in the old gym, Tyler and Bonnie holding their arms out and smirking at each other as they tried to out-match the other in a time-tested game of strength while Elena, Stefan, and the others cheered on their favorite person to victory. He wouldn't put it past Bonnie to hold back, either – make Lockwood Jr. think she was innocent before playing her true hand of cards.

"So he lost?"

"Not before he smashed the water fountain in half." Stefan winced. 

Mayor Lockwood wouldn't be pleased with the sudden bills. Damon could imagine the veins protruding out of Dickwood's forehead as he berated the poor kid for something Tyler could barely control. Just in case, Damon pulled out his phone to text Mason. "With his bare hands? How angry was he for losing?"

"Prettyyyy pissed," Stefan admitted, holding out his hand as the mug floated around his cupped palm. "Why? Is that how he activates his powers?"

"Kind of." Again, it wasn't Damon's place to tell Lockwood family secrets. Mason held the final authority on their lunar-related past.

Stefan mulled over Damon's vague answer as he lightly blew on his hot mug of tea. "I… I think I'll let him know. Better to be safe than sorry."

That was the funny thing about Stefan – no matter what, the kid always believed the best in people. He saw this glimmer of light, even in the darkest of hearts, and he cherished it far more than someone like Damon ever could. If Stefan believed that he could reason with Tyler, then Damon wasn't in a position to stop him.

Stefan's smile grew wider as he took that first sip of green tea. "Also, we should do the magic thing more often."

"Don't get ahead of yourself." Damon snorted, hastily writing out a text. "If Tyler won't listen to most people, it's worth a shot. Maybe you'll be the one to get through his thick skull."

Your nephew's powers are starting to show up. Don't think he killed anyone, besides the water fountain, but you might need to give him the Talk.

In milliseconds, he had gotten a reply from Mason:

**shit. really? not good bro, but thx for the heads-up :(**

no problem, but don't thank me just yet. idk why but trouble seems to follow me everywhere I go

Even if it was wrapped up in the cutest – and most dangerous – Bonnie-shaped package he'd ever had the pleasure (and guilt) of unraveling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some minor revisions from the version posted on FF.net, as a heads-up! Additionally, I've bumped up the rating since this chapter _was_ pretty suggestive (but it honestly won't go into more detail than this). Sorry to those that wanted something more, uh, appropriate.


	19. isobel

In one week, Damon would defend his thesis, and in one week, he would cement his reputation as a vampire hater. Damon wasn't sure how much further he could descend into the abyss without it staring back at him.

Bonnie had to show up and prove him wrong. She had to kiss him like her un-life depended on it, and of course, she had to force him to re-evaluate everything he had ever known. Mom and Dad had hated vampires for a good reason - and now, he was questioning that vitriol? That subdued silence that always happened every time Stefan had dressed up as Edward Cullen for Halloween, on Elena's orders? (Okay, it was partially subdued silence, but also so they wouldn't laugh at him as loud. The glitter stuck to Stefan for weeks!)

Ever since that night, Damon and Bonnie had avoided each other, dancing around social circles so their eyes wouldn't meet. In a town of six thousand-something, people talked. Rumors were spreading, and none of them particularly flattering.

"You and Caroline don't get along, so avoiding my classmate is nothing new," Stefan was saying as he and Damon headed into the Grille, "But what on Earth did you tell Bonnie?"

"I told you, she hated my thesis." Damon shrugged, walking a little faster and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"To avoid you for a solid _week_?" Stefan pressed his lips together. "Is it related to you-know-what?"

Honestly, this was far deeper than conflicts about magic and blood-sucking. She'd spit on his life's work, insisting that his blood and sweat wasn't anywhere near enough - and for what? For him to change something that couldn't change this drastically this late in the game? Bennett's opinion be damned, he would earn that master's one way or another.

"Not this time," Damon settled on saying as he glanced towards the bar. 

Stefan shot him a judgmental look. "If you say so. I'll catch up with you later?"

Damon nodded, tossing the car keys and watching as his kid brother joined classmates (including Elena) the other side of the restaurant. As the bartender poured him a round of bourbon, Damon snatched the whole bottle and took a swig. He couldn't remember the last time he'd nursed his wounds with alcohol, let alone store-bought booze.

Why spend money on bourbon when he could synthesize hard cider? The Mansours had perfected their (non-alcoholic) apple cider recipe to an art: it soothed even the worst of physical injuries. Bourbon, on the other hand, echoed back memories of Lockwood Cider and synthesis lessons. He even could hear his father's stern yet concerned voice in the back of his brain.

" _You're better than this, Damon,_ " his father would have insisted, with disappointment in his eyes. Then again, his father should've let him run away from this place. " _You don't need bourbon as a crutch—_ "

"Sure I do," Damon grumbled to empty air as he downed what remained of the bottle. As far as the world was concerned, he had turned in his thesis, and he was going to graduate with honors. He hadn't written a scientifically incorrect paper. He hadn't avoided Bennett, or anything orange-scented, for a whole week and a day. The Augustine Society would love his thesis, but at what cost? Perpetuating a stereotype that shouldn't have existed in the first place? He ordered another bottle- anything to drown out the laughter of the kids across the room. This town was on a whole different wavelength, and for one moment, Damon wanted no part of it.

Matt shot him judgmental looks from the other side of the bar, but Damon couldn't find the energy to care. Right as Damon started on what was his third bottle, Matt's hands were already blocking him from pouring.

"You look like a wreck."

Damon cast him a sideways glance. "I don't pay you to care, Donovan."

"Oookay then." Matt snatched the bottle back, setting it underneath the counter. "I think that's enough for the night."

"Since when do you get to decide?"

"Since your brother became your designated driver." Matt leaned forward, staring at him with a worry that made him look far beyond his years. "Don't make poor Stef clean up after you. Trust me, it _sucks_ when you've gotta babysit someone older than you." 

"Stefan will do no such thing." Damon tried to push back against the counter; instead, he wobbled closer. Of all the times for him to turn into a dumb lightweight too. He paused, staring down at an order of fries before him. "Also, I didn't order that."

"It's on the house. You brought my sister back." Matt shook his head with relief as he poured Damon a tall glass of ice water. "She's coming home for Christmas with her friend Lexi – and man, that was all because of you and Bonnie. I can't repay you enough."

"Uh-huh." Damon couldn't trust this generosity – not when it was separating him from his precious bourbon. He sulked, resting his arms on the counter. "So, tell me, Donovan, how's your friend liking therapy?"

"Pretty well. How come?"

"You're actually going? Consistently?"

Matt raised an eyebrow. "My friend has been, yeah. It's helping."

"Good on him." Damon meant it too. When he had recommended therapy all those months ago, he hadn't expected Donovan (er, Donovan's friend) to follow through. "Maybe I should take my own advice."

"Probably. Booze doesn't make the best medicine – or so I've been told."

Damon scowled, staring into the empty bottles of bourbon. Matt pretended to ignore the death glare as he tended to other customers. This scene felt all too familiar, except it didn't – Damon rarely frequented bars. They couldn't afford it in Boston; instead, he and his friends pregamed in tiny dorm rooms before rushing to the clubs and bars with illegal IDs. This wasn't his life. He was only borrowing someone else's nervous tics until he could regain his composure long enough to function. 

As Damon swished his glass, watching the ice clink against the surface, he couldn't help laughing at the whole situation. He had eschewed two whole years of work for – for booze? To earn a reputation as Zach and Leila's wayward son? He could picture the disappointment on their faces now: their dutiful son was really their prodigal son, wasting away on a diet of bourbon and black tea. Bennett had to ruin the grand illusion. She had to disprove his thesis with one stupid kiss; she just had to pretend that she was a teenager, coyly flirting with Lockwood as they walked inside behind him. Damon gritted his teeth, trying to ignore their banter.

Tyler was unnecessarily loud as he whined about their upcoming History exam. Bonnie was giggling at something he had said, turning to find a table. Their eyes met, for the briefest of seconds, only for Bonnie's smile to disappear.

She marched up to the bar and slammed her hand down on the counter. Her citrus perfume (body lotion?) was strong yet soothing - a combination that unsettled him more than the bourbon.

"You're drinking? Now?" Judgment colored her voice as her gaze fell towards his water. "Isn't it a little early for vodka?"

"It's water, Bonnie," Matt called from the other end of the restaurant.

Bonnie breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I just…. I thought…"

"Thought what? That I was becoming an alcoholic?"

"The only thing you're missing is a black leather jacket," she said with a laugh. As she scrutinized him – rather, scrutinized his gray linen blazer and his black and light blue screen-printed t-shirt, her lips crinkled up in the faint imitation of a smile.

Technically, he owned a few. For the past few Halloweens, he donned one when he pretended to wield a gunblade – and in college, he'd worn them whenever he went bar-crawling. Now, he had a professional image to maintain. That didn't exactly coincide with black leather.

He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. "I must've missed the memo."

"You miss a lot of memos." Bonnie's expression softened. "I… well, I should get going."

She slipped back towards Tyler's table, leaving Damon to reach for the first fry and blow on it before he took that first bite. 

"What happened between you two?" Matt placed a hand on his hip as he glanced towards his classmates. "Bonnie's acting weird, and you've been weirder than usual, so…"

"You're reading too much into it." Damon reached for another fistful of fries. "I didn't do a thing."

His phone buzzed with a text. Strange, he wasn't expecting one at this hour-

Can you come here? please? Elena found out she's adopted, and she's mad at me for not telling her sooner I don't know what to do, Day I fucked up. I fucked up real bad.

Damon reached into his pockets and pulled out a wadful of cash. Handing it over to Matt, he rose to his feet and snagged the basket of fries.

Matt raised an eyebrow. "Where're you going with that?"

"Jenna's," Damon said, not bothering to turn back. "Keep the change, or use it to pay off my booze tab, or... something. I'll see you later."

 

 

As far as Damon, Jenna, and Mason were concerned, Elena's adoption was an open secret. No one talked about it, at Uncle Grayson's and Aunt Miranda's request, but everyone knew Miranda had never been pregnant. (Jeremy's birth? Total fluke. Uncle Grayson and Aunt Miranda never thought they could have kids of their own until he arrived into the world.) Plus, blood didn't define family. Elena would always be Uncle Grayson's and Aunt Miranda's. They raised her. They shared everything on the emotional rollercoaster of life, from dumb family traditions to serious plans and commitments for the future. Damon had always figured, they'd talk about it when Elena was older. Older meaning way past high school graduation, not two whole years before it.

By the time he reached the Gilberts' front porch, the booze was mostly out of his system, and the fries were getting cold, but he was here. Right where Jenna wanted him.

He took a breath before ringing the bell. "Jenna? Elena? Uh, anyone home?"

The door swung open as Jenna rushed to greet him. "Thank you, thank you! Ooh, and you brought fries!"

When she wrapped her arms around him tight, Damon almost thought he'd drop them. Almost, because he was still a bit wobbly from the bourbon.

He let go, handing the fries over to her. "Of course I did. Jenn, what happened?"

"Someone - Elena won't say who - figured out that Elena's parents weren't Grayson and Miranda. I know, you know, Uncle Zach and Aunt Leila know... who could've told her?"

Good question. Damon racked his brain of the short list of people that would even think to mention this to her - Jenna, Damon, Mason, his parents, and maybe Aunt Sheila. If Aunt Sheila knew, then Bonnie would know, and-

That was too cruel, even for Bonnie. Even so, he hastily texted her (having acquired her number from a certain kid brother a long time ago):

Hey, Bennett. Did you spill the beans about Elena being adopted?

**nope. explains why she was so sad though :( i thought you did?**

don't even try to pin the blame on me. i was going to take this to my grave.

**she's really torn up. if you didn't tell her, is it possible stefan might've? he looks pretty guilty rn**

Jenna furrowed her brow. "What's up? You look as torn as I feel right now."

"Stefan told her." Damon tucked his phone back in his pocket, walking with her towards the kitchen. "I should've guessed. If I knew, and Mom and Dad knew, it was only a matter of time before my baby bro would've spilled his guts out."

"What prompted it, you think?"

Any number of things, really - why Pearl kept mistaking Elena for Katherine; why Bonnie was so interested in the Gilberts to begin with; or even why Stefan was engrossed in the wonderful world of alchemy. Damon couldn't begin to guess Stefan's breaking point. Funny, because his brother was an open book. No matter how sullen Stefan acted, he cared. He cared too much, with a heart that could potentially contain the world. The kid still wore his heart on his sleeve, and it was only a matter of time before someone shredded it to pieces.

"Not sure," Damon admitted. "Could be multiple somethings. I'd have to ask him." There was a small pause, before he asked, "How... how do you think you screwed up, Jen?"

She sighed, staring down at her now-empty basket of fries. "Elena asked why I never told her, and I said they never wanted me to, and she grilled me for everything I knew - and all I had? Was her name. Isobel."

"Which is still more than I had." Damon flopped onto the couch, motioning for Jenna to join him. "What do you think she's gonna do with it?"

"It's not what she's gonna do, it's what she wants me to do. I'm supposed to dig through old medical records - logs, appointment books, anything that could reach out to the truth."

"So they're not going to run off to find her?" Damon winced - in hindsight, tossing the keys to Stefan hadn't been the smartest idea.

Jenna leaned into him, nestling her head against his chest. "I hope not. There's a lot of Isobels out there."

Here they were, falling back into a predictable (and yet comforting) pattern. Jenna stressed, and he consoled her until the danger had safely passed every single time. Were Mason here, someone would've brightened the mood with an ill-timed joke or three, but when it was just them-

"They'd better stick around. Midterms're coming up soon," Alaric's voice called from the kitchen. Coming into the den with three mugs of hot tea, he slid them across the coffee table. "I'm not thrilled about failing two of my best students."

"Me either. Stefan's got his heart set on Harvard." Damon glanced up at Alaric, motioning for him to join them on the couch.

Alaric did - on the exact opposite end. So Damon tugged at his acquaintance's arm, pulling him back towards the cuddle pile until Jenna was nestled in the middle of their Damon-and-Alaric sandwich. (As conflicted as Damon felt, Jenna was safe - and home - whenever the guy was around, and Damon could respect that. Mostly.)

"Aww, cuddle party?" Jenna wrapped her arms around Alaric's, smiling up at the guy like he was her moon and stars, and maybe even a knight in shining armor.

To an extent, Damon could see it: Alaric had that blinding smile, and the blonde hair and warm eyes that could make a woman (and some men) swoon. Problem was, Damon didn't buy the act. Underneath that armor, Alaric was hiding some serious Issues, and they were far more sinister than Damon could've imagined.

"Cuddle party," Damon answered with a grin. "Sorry, Ric - Jenna's a package deal."

Alaric snorted. "I figured that out a long time ago. So, how can we help?"

"You're helping right now," Jenna said, stifling a yawn as she curled up close to her boys.

Damon was this close to pushing them off the couch, even if he had initiated the cuddle party. He was the third wheel, and everyone on this couch knew it. "Elena was born on June 22nd, right? In 1992? I'd look around that week, see if anyone with the name Isobel checked in."

Alaric shot him an impressed look. "You remember her birthday?"

"I remember all of their birthdays, Ric."

Birthdays were sacred, in their own right: they were the one day of a year Damon could cherish the people he cared for without looking like a total sap. Sure, in public, he acted as if he never knew their special day. Just like he didn't know their favorite kinds of coffee, or how they took their tea, or even what music would annoy them to the point of anger. (With Stefan, it was always the Little Mermaid Broadway soundtrack. Always.)

Jenna's soft snoring escaped her lips as she fell onto Alaric's lap. Resisting the urge to laugh, Damon pried himself off the cuddle pile and back onto his feet.

"Remind her in the morning," Damon said, grabbing a mug and taking a sip. Mm, English Breakfast. "I've got a feeling she'll be sleeping for a while."

Alaric pushed back strands of Jenna's hair. For a second, a wistful look remained on his face as he watched over his girl - and for a second, Damon was jealous of them.

"Her birth mom's name was Isobel, wasn't it? My wife was from around here. I wonder if..." Alaric's voice grew dry.

The thought had briefly entered Damon's mind, considering that Elena's mirror image had murdered Isobel - but it would be a huge coincidence. Then again, did coincidences exist in their world? Or was everyone connected to each other with long, twisted strings that pulled at each other at the worst possible moment?

"Wouldn't she have told you?" Damon handed over one of the mugs to Alaric. "I feel like that's the kind of conversation you have before marriage."

Alaric took a sip. "A guy would hope, right? But I'm starting to realize that my wife had more than a few secrets rattling around in her closet, and none of them good."

Some questions were best left unasked, Damon realized as he looked back at Alaric. He couldn't drudge up the past, if it would only cause further heartbreak and misery - nor could he willingly keep Jenna in the dark much longer.

After a few seconds of deliberation, Damon finished the last of his mug. "Would you... would you mind looking into it? Check with her old childhood friends, see if you can get the ball rolling?"

"Easily." Alaric's smile didn't quite reach his eyes this time. "In the meantime, don't wear yourself out. Your thesis defense's coming up, isn't it?"

"I can multi-task." Damon shrugged, turning towards the kitchen. "Take care of her for me until then, okay? No trying to kill her too?"

"That was one time," Alaric protested in vain, as Damon set his mug in the kitchen sink. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"What, and stop using the one good piece of blackmail I have?"

Alaric was a nutcase if he ever believed Damon would forgive and forget so easily. Forgive, sure - but forget? Forgetting was for chumps who could afford to lose a few brain cells. In one week, he'd defend his (stupid, no longer valid) thesis, and hopefully in one week, this would all blow away during the Christmas holidays. God knows that for once, they could all use some good cheer.


	20. defenses

Every year, Damon and Stefan would head to one of the DC-area airports to pick up Mom and Dad. They had the routine down to an art: waiting for them by the baggage claim, hugging them in bright daylight, and even steering the conversation towards small talk as they waited for suitcases to arrive.

In Damon's experience, jet-lagged parents were also more sensitive parents, and the less they discussed magic and spells and bloodsuckers, the easier the ride home would be. For once, he longed to hear a lecture on his poor life choices. He was certainly regretting every one that led up to this moment.

When Mom and Dad said they were returning on December 10th, Damon hadn't understood why. Then he'd taken one look at his calendar and realized – his thesis defense was on the 11th. They were coming back to watch him defend his paper, and they were going to lose every ounce of faith they had in their son.

"You're going to be fine," Stefan was saying, standing on his tip-toes to see above the crowd. "You worked on this for a really long time. You've got it."

That was the problem. Dad would agree with every word, but Mom – Mom had befriended Bonnie and probably a few vegetarian vampires along the way. If anyone believed in vampire emotions, it would be her, and once again, Damon would be letting her down.

"Maybe." Damon folded his arms, turning towards the incoming crowd of travelers.

Then his eyes connected with Mom's – and well, he had never been so glad to rush into her arms.

 

 

On the way home, Dad insisted on sitting in the passenger seat. Before he fiddled with the radio, he had to ask, "Gattino, what time're you defending your thesis tomorrow?"

An uneasy dread filled Damon's bones. Small talk at baggage claim hadn't saved him. Mom and Dad just _had_ to take off two extra weeks for their eldest son, and they just had to get straight down to business.

It was Stefan who answered, "3 PM. Are you gonna grab me from school, or should I take the afternoon off?"

Mom shot him a skeptical glance. "Can you afford to, Stefanizo? I'm sure we can record the whole thing."

"Damon only defends a thesis once." Stefan slumped further into the leather seat, struggling – and failing – to hold in a sigh. "If we can, then why not? I can make up the work later."

"I hope it's a one-time-only thing," Damon interrupted, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Not even an hour, and they were already discussing his life and his impending future. Typical. Give it a few hours, and they'd discuss his lack of a steady girlfriend (and potential grandbabies). "So uh - do you want to skim the paper before you see it tomorrow?"

He might as well rip the band-aid off and get it over with. He could live with another notch on the disapproval ladder. Let Stefan be their golden boy for another 24 hours, or however long they decided to stay in town this time.

Except Mom and Dad exchanged uneasy glances with each other, right before Dad said, "Actually, we'll hold off. We know you've done good work."

Damon stood corrected: hope felt worse than disapproval. They trusted in his ability to seek the truth – and it wasn't even one he believed in anymore.

"Th-thanks," he said, swallowing a breath.

Through the rearview mirror, he could see Stefan's worried gaze. For the time being, Damon decided to ignore it. This was one conversation he couldn't have with Stefan, either; Stefan would insist upon rewriting a thesis, and that might take another year and a half. All for what, proving that vampires held some kind of moral compass?

Some other researcher could verify that truth. Damon wanted no part in it. Not anymore, when he was too tightly connected to the subject matter.

So Damon plastered on a smile as he glanced over at his father. "No, seriously – thanks for believing in me, and for coming back home. I didn't think you would actually make it."

Dad's expression softened as he reached over and lightly traced his thumb across Damon's wrist. "We wouldn't have missed this for the world."

In that moment, Damon was five years old again, and his father's touch could cure even the biggest of worries. He contemplated on telling them the truth – about every single supernatural burden weighing down his chest – before deciding against it.

Some sentences were never meant to be said.

 

 

In the morning, Damon stopped by Aunt Sheila's office. Their visits had almost become routine, albeit one where Damon questioned her world order over tea and cookies. When he entered her office this time, though, he left a present at her desk.

She looked up from her textbook. "What's this?"

"An apology," he said, struggling to maintain eye contact with her. "A few months ago, I said some stuff about Bonnie that I shouldn't have, and you still humored me."

Aunt Sheila had said that _blood was thicker than water_ and _you, of all people, should know that better than anyone_. At the time, he was convinced that all vampires were bloodthirsty mongrels. At the time, he hadn't fully grasped the unbreakable bond of family. At the time, he hadn't understood a thing.

Now, with his parents waiting in that Augustine-approved lecture hall, he knew better. Bonnie was fortunate to have such understanding descendants, and more importantly, descendants who would defend her with their dying breaths. Were he a vampire, he could only hope his family would do the same in turn.

Aunt Sheila held the present in her hands, careful to unfold the patterned paper rather than tear it into pieces. "You didn't have to do this."

"No, but I wanted to." Damon's cheeks were growing flushed. "Aunt Sheila, I made a huge mistake, and there's not enough time to fix it."

"Are you talking about your thesis?" Bonnie's voice called as she waltzed into the room.

She was dressed modestly, in simple black jeans and a loose paisley-patterned red tunic. Her choice of clothing didn't diminish her beauty for even a second. As she approached him, Damon could feel his breath growing trapped in his throat. Unbuttoned jeans, paper-lantern stars, and a crooked rug all rushed back to the surface of his mind. He couldn't, he shouldn't - she was still a minor in body and spirit. He was (and yet he wasn't) too old for her.

His gaze lingered over Bonnie longer than he would've liked to admit. "Yeah. I am."

Aunt Sheila's expression softened as she rose to her feet. "I thought you'd never admit it."

That would make two of them. He had prepared his whole defense today on a foundation of lies. Augustine would approve, and the committee would graduate him (with honors, probably). But – and this was a huge but – was it worth the heartache? Years later, the world could realize that Damon had obscured the truth by misinterpreting data. He was risking his whole degree on this, and he wasn't sure it was worth the gamble.

"There's one thing that still bugs me," he admitted, now staring at Bonnie's lapis lazuli necklace and the light reflecting from its illustrious surface. "If vampires can feel more than humans – why were their brainwaves non-existent? The lights might've been on, but I don't think anyone was home."

Bonnie shot her grandmother a pleading look. (What? What had he said?) When Aunt Sheila nodded, she explained, "Actually, vampires can turn their emotions off at any time. We call it the humanity switch – and when their emotions are gone, so are those brainwaves."

Damon's voice grew almost inaudible, "Then what would lead them to shut off said emotions?"

Aunt Sheila stared straight through him, "Nothing good."

In the 1950's, Augustine had performed a series of tests on vampires, to determine their mental processes and how those differed from average (straight, white, male) humans of their day. The law didn't require informed consent in those days, and scientists could ask whatever they wanted of their subjects. After Milgram and Tuskegee, the law had stepped in and regulated the world of clinical research.

Perhaps history had quietly neglected Whitmore – and by extension, the Augustine Society – for a reason. The numbers never lied, but now they signified the exact opposite of what he had researched. Vampires, overwhelmed by years of experimentation, flipped their switch off. At the end, there were no brainwaves _because_ they had suppressed those emotions.

If that was the case, then he would have to get back to the drawing board. Damon let out a slow, deep breath. "I don't think I can rescind what I wrote."

To defend a thesis, Damon had submitted mounds of paperwork and a paper over a hundred pages in length. While his work wasn't anything groundbreaking, it clarified some gaps in vampire research, and thus would become a community asset.

Most people didn't even watch a master student's defense. The big audiences were reserved for doctoral students like Jessalyn and Wes, who spent years to uncover a new truth or groundbreaking research – but when Damon worked in their lab and utilized their research, the supernatural community sat up and took notes. Whitmore didn't encourage an audience, but they didn't exactly discourage one either.

So for Damon's and Misao's defenses, Augustine had booked a lecture hall. They wouldn't have a large audience – their friends, family, and local supernatural enthusiasts – but it would be more than what most master students received (read: none).

"It's a little late for that," Bonnie admitted, folding her arms. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, though in the blink of an eye, she had Damon's usual tea order. "You might as well take your best shot." 

He blinked back surprise as he accepted the cup. "You're…. okay with that?"

"No, but you've already submitted it with the approval of your department. I can't exactly ask you to take back over a year's worth of work and unpublished research." She leaned forward, tightening his cuff links. "What's Misao's thesis on, anyway?"

Her touch was softer than he remembered. Damon took a few seconds to answer, "The true behaviors of shapeshifters in American society. She's focusing specifically on this pack down in Tennessee? I know she was with them for a couple of summers for fieldwork."

Bonnie hummed thoughtfully. "I'll record it for Tyler. He might be interested in it someday."

"Assuming he ever activates the gene, you mean."

Her expression hardened into an unreadable mask as she let go. "Let's hope it never comes to that."

As she turned to leave the room, Damon watched her head further and further out of his line of sight. For the briefest of seconds, his heart ached and he could've sworn that her orange-scented perfume lingered on his wrists.

Aunt Sheila let out an amused laugh as she pulled out a box of chocolate oranges. "I'll say, you know exactly what to get me every year."

"It's nothing," he said with a small laugh.

"Still. Thank you, my boy." Her smile was wide and genuine this time, and Damon almost wished he could capture it on camera. "Good luck. I hope that both you and Ms. Saitou graduate today."

 

 

A few hours later, Damon Salvatore and Misao Saitou would defend their theses to a small crowd of approximately 30 people (including their committees). Doctoral students had recalled hitched breaths and sweaty palms as they discussed their groundbreaking research – and as Damon stood up before the circle of hand-picked professors, he felt more like a Ph.D. candidate than a master's. His hands were shaking; his heart was racing; and he was sweating bullets. He remembered the professors' note-taking, and the worried expressions on his family's faces. Mom, Dad, and Stefan were right in the front row, though Bonnie was leaning into Stefan like he was a comfortable pillow. Damon saw that neon sign even under the fluorescent lights.

He stood his ground, taking the right amount of time to explain how certain "differently abled" people (read: vampires) lacked emotions. He also didn't believe a single word of it. No one with half a brain should have – but those Augustine professors were all smiles, and at the end of the defense, Damon Mansour Salvatore had earned a shiny master's degree in Cognitive Psychology.

As he stumbled out of the lecture hall, Stefan and Mom rushed to embrace him, pulling Dad along for a Salvatore sandwich. He could hear Bonnie's laugh as his family surrounded him, but for the first time, he didn't mind. He knew his parents. They showered everyone with love, even if they barely knew the person.

Damon called it "killing people with kindness." Stefan called it "being a decent person." (They fought about this definition nearly every other week.)

"We'll talk about your thesis later, but you did well." Mom whispered in his ear as she let go, "Congratulations, gattino."

He let out a deep breath as his colleagues and fellow labmates came to congratulate him and Misao. The lab would lose two valuable perspectives today – the psychologist and the sociologist – and as Wes had joked, they would be again blinded by hard science.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bonnie and Stefan talking, and even though he'd only turned his head for a second, Bonnie had given him a bright smile. Even if she hated his thesis, she didn't necessarily hate him anymore.

He didn't get why, but the realization lifted his spirits. Some emotions, he supposed, were too hard to suppress.


	21. conversions

Mom and Dad were seriously starting to stress Damon out. They didn’t mean it, but when a guy’s used to living without them, their sudden re-entry threw his entire life off-balance. One moment, Damon was cooking dinner and the next, Dad was seizing the wok from him and insisting that he could take it from here.

It was a nice gesture. Dad wanted him to relax, especially after two and a half years’ worth of hard work. Problem was, Damon _liked_ cooking. He liked the sizzling heat and the warm smell of garlic and ginger powder. He liked the turmeric between his fingers and he even liked the smell of chicken that clung to his sweater for hours on end. The intermingled scents reminded him of alchemy and of synthesizing elixirs under dimmed light. This was his world, not Dad’s. 

Sure, Dad and Mom owned the place. Damon was under their thumb until he got a decent job or moved out, whichever came first – but in this economy, he knew he was staying a while. 

As he approached the kitchen table, Stefan glanced up from his novel. “You’re not gonna fight Dad?” 

Damon shook his head as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “Not worth the effort.” 

There were always growing pains when Mom and Dad returned home. Little things, usually: Mom waking up before dawn to pray, or Dad humming classical rock when he thought no one was listening. Salvatore Manor and quiet were no longer synonymous, but then, were they ever? 

Stefan blinked back surprise, sitting up straighter to watch their parents. “You sure? Dad’s about to add salt to the mansaf.”

The growl from Damon’s lips was almost inhuman. Everyone knew you had to be careful with adding salt to the mansaf! The lamb wouldn’t taste quite right and yet here he was, powerless against the raging storm that was his (well-meaning) parents. 

“I’m not adding _that_ much,” Dad protested, with perhaps the most dismayed expression Damon had seen in years. 

Mom wrinkled her nose, right before kissing Dad’s forehead. “You also have a scary tolerance for sodium, habibi.” 

Damon pressed a few fingers to his throat as he mimicked gagging noises. God, they did this stupid song and dance every single time they came home. Schmoopy kisses, disgusting nicknames, cheesy reminders… they’d been married almost thirty years and the honeymoon still wasn’t over. The honeymoon would never be over. 

“Stop being overdramatic. It’s kind of cute,” Stefan said, rolling his eyes at Damon’s (perfectly normal) gestures. 

“I think the word you’re looking for is obnoxious.” 

A jar of paprika was flung in Damon’s direction. Holding out his hand, he focused on the jar and pushed against its flight path. It screeched to a halt, mere inches before his face. Bits spilled onto the dining table. 

Stefan snapped his fingers, pouring the paprika back into its original container and levitating it back towards the spice rack. 

“Come on! You _told_ me no magic at the dinner table!” He rose to his feet, giving his parents a glare that could’ve petrified them. “One rule in this house! One stupid rule, and you break it instantly.” 

“You know them, Stefanizo. In one ear and out the other,” Mom said, pressing a hand to her face as she burst into laughter. 

Betrayed by his own mother. Damon curled his hands into fists, because of course Mom would sell him out to his little brother. Every single time they were home, this happened. Maybe not the levitating, or the paprika flying in his face, but this togetherness. 

For a few weeks, they would pretend they were family and then Mom and Dad would ruin the moment by boarding a plane back to Italy. This peace never lasted long enough. If anything, it was far too short. 

“Or maybe it never entered their brains in the first place.” Stefan raised his hand, pulling the salt away from Dad and into his hands. “Dad, you know that’s gonna upset Damon. Add the salt when you eat it.” 

“But that takes half the fun away,” Dad said to empty air, reaching for the spot where the salt had once been. 

What fun? 

Damon’s groan could’ve woken the dead. Or the neighbors, were they sleeping at this hour.

“What’d I tell you?” Stefan seized the salt shaker and brushed it against Damon’s shoulders. “Stop. Being. Overdramatic! I swear, every single time they come home, you act like you’re five!" 

“Maybe that’s on purpose,” Damon protested to deaf ears, snapping his fingers and letting magic set the table for him. Stefan’s glare didn’t deter him for a second. “Maybe I don’t want to be grown up, because maybe that implies that I was in charge of you for a year and that I’ll be in charge of you again when they go back!” 

Mom and Dad exchanged nervous glances. 

“We have some big news for you,” Dad interrupted with a cough. “It might make you re-think your whole outlook on salt.” 

Oh boy. Damon raised his eyebrows at them as the last table settings fell into place. 

“Could it wait until after dinner?” Stefan dared to ask, peering at Damon and his parents. “You did go to all that trouble, and the mansaf smells really good…” 

“I don’t think so,” Mom promised as she intertwined her fingers with Dad’s and gave them a light squeeze. “This, you’ll want to hear now.”

Hang on. Re-thinking his whole outlook on salt, family togetherness, and now important news? Mom was too old for a pregnancy scare, so that couldn’t be it. If it was big enough to interrupt dinner, then… 

Damon pressed his lips together as he stared his parents straight in the eye. “You’re staying, aren’t you. You’re not going back after New Year’s.” 

When Mom and Dad nodded, he should’ve felt a huge weight slide off his shoulders. They had unlocked his metal shackles of responsibility, and now, he had no further obligations towards Mystic Falls. He had his master’s degree. Stefan had two parents that would stay and love him unconditionally. Pearl and Anna had promised to remain on their best behavior, and Bonnie? Well, he had a feeling that she could handle herself.

Now, he could re-shelve his grimoire and finally comb through his hero hair. He had saved Mystic Falls from wicked bloodsuckers, and if this Katherine ever paid them a visit – well, he was only a call away. After these past four months, he deserved a long, vampire-free vacation. Except Mom and Dad’s smiles were so genuine that for a second, Damon forgot all about his freedom. 

“Yeah, we’re here to stay,” Mom said as Damon and Stefan rushed into their parents’ arms. “No more fieldwork for us.”

 

 

For the first time in several years, Damon didn’t complain about the salty mansaf. How could he, when Mom and Dad had finally given him their blessings? The world was his oyster: after Christmas, he would explore every inch of the United States. He had his Camaro, a fully-functional GPS, and enough cash to last him a few months. He didn’t even need to wean them on the idea. 

“A whole cross-country trip? Perfect opportunity to see your cousins,” Dad said, turning towards Mom with a twinkle in his eye. 

“As long as he checks in every other night,” Mom added. “I know you’ll update your blogs and your Facebook, but keep us posted on where you are and where you’re going.” 

“Don’t forget to visit the biggest ball of yarn.” Stefan’s grin was more arrogant than amused. “Isn’t that what people do on roadtrips?” 

Damon was this close to elbowing him, or at least poking his shoulder with the salt shaker. “I will, don’t worry. I’ve planned this whole thing out. After New Year, I’ll hit up DC and the Northeast before going west.” 

Reunite with some college buddies, enjoy the local sights, etcetera. He really couldn’t go wrong here. 

“We have some more news for you,” Dad said, once they’d finished their meal and cleared the table. “But I think it can wait until after Maghrib.” 

Stefan furrowed his brow. “Well, can’t you tell us? Mom never takes that long to begin with.” 

Dad shook his head, heading towards the sink and murmuring something in Arabic. Letting the water rush over his fingers, he cupped his right hand and began washing it three times. Damon’s heart sunk as Dad then washed the left three times. 

“Dad’s doing wudu,” Stefan murmured. “Wait. He’s _actually_ doing wudu?”

That couldn’t be right. Mom was Muslim and Dad was Catholic. Their religions were compatible but not the same. From an early age, Stefan and Damon had been raised with one foot in both traditions, never settling for either. For simplicity’s sake, Damon leaned towards Catholicism. People asked less questions when they saw him at mass. 

Stefan, on the other hand, kept teetering between two distinctly different faiths. He couldn’t fully abide by Catholicism, nor could he adhere to every little law in Islamic tradition. For better or worse, the kid was stuck. If Dad took that final leap and erased the interfaith foundation that had been the Salvatore-Mansour marriage, then – Then Stefan had been balancing for too long, and Damon no longer shared a faith with his father. 

Damon’s index finger was shaking – his whole body was, really - as he inched back towards the kitchen wall. “Dad, when did you take the shahada?” 

It had to be recent. Dad was a terrible Catholic, but he used to drag Damon to mass. After every service, they commiserated over terrible Eucharist bread and every week, Dad had made up for it with lunch from the Grill. (Damon could still taste those waffle fries if he closed his eyes.) Dad had taught him the importance of Christmas, and Dad used to play Kyrie on full blast when Mom wasn’t home. 

Damon didn’t share much with his father, but dammit, faith was the only thing they had in common. Faith had been the one North Star in their lives. Faith had been—

“About six months ago, give or take,” Dad admitted, finishing up his wudu.

Faith had been a total and complete sham.

“You didn’t think to tell us?” Stefan gestured towards himself and Damon. “This is big news. Like, bigger than you coming back home permanently.”

Dad gave them his most apologetic smile. “I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” 

“That’s kind of the problem,” Damon said, burying his head in his hands. His voice was starting to crack and – and he had to keep it together, if only for a little longer. “You were supposed to find _dinosaurs_ , not God.”

“No one said that they couldn’t find both,” Stefan said, his voice growing quiet and small. His face was crumpling, and for a few minutes, Damon saw a betrayed, small boy in the place of his self-assured brother. “Why didn’t you tell us? We could’ve tried to observe Ramadan this year.” 

Or you know, stop attending mass. That would’ve been nice to know six months ago. 

Dad’s voice was wavering, “I already converted once. We saw how well that worked out.” 

Forget this. Forget listening to Dad and forget watching them pray together like some happy little family. Damon headed towards the coat rack and reached for his favorite leather jacket. 

The last time he wore one, it was Halloween and he was brandishing an imaginary weapon as he asked Vicki to reconsider her life choices. Back then, he thought he had his act together. Everything was supposed to fall into place: his thesis, his family, and his love life (in that exact order). Except nothing had, and he could only sweep up the broken pieces before someone else trampled over them.

“Damon….” Stefan stepped closer, reaching out to touch Damon’s shoulder. 

He side-stepped the gesture, turning to face the (empty) liquor cabinet. Of course. He should’ve seen that one coming when Dad had confessed to the shahada.

With a heavy sigh, he glanced down at his brother. “Don’t bother. I’m not in the mood.” 

Stefan’s eyes narrowed. “When are you ever?”

“Gattino,” Dad interrupted, folding his arms as his gaze shifted from Stefan to Damon. “At least hear me out. I know this isn’t the easiest change in the world.” 

“He said he wasn’t in the mood.” Mom appeared at his side again, this time with her star-patterned hijab loosely tied around her face. As she regarded Damon, her lips curled downwards into an unmistakable frown. 

Damon’s stomach sank further than he thought possible. See, Mom never raised her voice or stomped her feet into the ground. She didn’t have to: her disapproval was more obvious than the bright moon outside.

He took a deep breath, struggling to keep his shoulders from shaking. “You should’ve told us.” 

“Gattino….” Mom and Dad’s voices were one this time. 

Stefan’s gaze fell onto the clock behind them. “There’s not much time left. We’ll pray and then we’ll talk more about it.” 

We. 

Stefan didn’t even care about Dad’s sudden change of heart. Golden boy would lead the family prayers now, because Stefan and Dad didn’t need faith as common ground. They were two peas in a pod, and the worst part? Stefan didn’t have to try. 

Damon followed his brother’s gaze, then towards his parents. “Fine by me.”

 

 

There never was a later. As soon as Stefan recited the adhan, the landline rang. Damon peered down at the caller ID: Lizzie Forbes. Must be urgent, if she wasn’t calling Mom’s cell phone. 

He greeted her, “Hey, Aunt Liz. Mom and Dad’re a little busy at the moment.” 

Aunt Liz sighed. “Thank you, I should’ve guessed. Is there any way they could drop by Town Hall for an emergency meeting?”

As he pulled the phone from his ear, Damon felt shivers run down his spine. They must’ve found vampires. Better question was, which ones? Couldn’t be Bonnie. His bloodsucker would’ve known better. 

Anna and Pearl were too busy playing human, so who did that leave? An unknown challenger?

Damon found himself saying, “What if I go in their place?”

“Are you sure?” Aunt Liz sounded warier than usual. “You never showed up last time.” 

“I also had a thesis last time.” 

Which was the truth, technically speaking. Graduate school consumed your soul and distorted it into something slightly unrecognizable. Damon was lucky he got out when he did. 

After what seemed like eternity, Aunt Liz relented, “Alright. You’re close with Jeremy too, so this might work out.” 

“Jeremy?” Damon struggled to affect confusion in his voice. “When did he join the Council?” 

“It’s less that and more… we’ve been trying to borrow something of his.” 

All this time, Damon thought he’d heard the last of that stupid pocket watch. Figures that the Council needed it for more than hunting vampires by moonlight (and burying dead members by candlelight). 

He glanced down at the caller ID for one long minute before he said, “His watch, right? Like how you had to borrow my vervain?”

“Exactly. Zach and Leila filled you in?” 

“More or less.” No supernatural powers of deduction here. Vervain, an invention by a notorious vampire hunter, and now an impending Council meeting? Even a monkey could draw the same conclusion. 

“What if I can get him to use it? Do you still need Mom and Dad?” 

“Not at all,” Aunt Liz said, now sighing of relief. “Thank you, Damon. Consider yourself a member of the Council, and…. we’ll talk more when Founder’s Day approaches.” 

She hung up before Damon could. The final prayers echoed throughout the house. Mercy, forgiveness, and guidance – the three cornerstones that defined prayers in Salvatore Manor. Damon knew them forwards and backwards.

As Maghrib finished, Mom called, “Damon? Who was that?” 

“Nothing important.” Damon reached for a set of keys before slipping through the garage door. 

Whatever the Council was planning, Mom and Dad deserved no part in it. They found God, and for just one day, Damon figured, they should keep him.

 

 

The dirt roads had never felt emptier. To reach anywhere in Mystic Falls – no, the whole state of Virginia – Damon had to travel these one-lane gravel dirt roads. Most of the time, the bumps in the road soothed him. It had become the one safe and stable thing in his life, after everything else cracked and hissed.

He couldn’t leave, not without hearing the full story, but he couldn’t stay either. Not in that stifling house with its shaking, unsteady foundation. The timing couldn’t have been worse, and as the dirt road gave way to paved concrete, Damon found himself parking in front of the last home he’d step foot in. 

No white picket fence or carefully maintained orchards could mask that tell-tale aura that pulsed around her. She might’ve crossed over his threshold one times too many, but he swore that he wouldn’t fall into her clutches. 

Except he was climbing out of his Camaro and walking up to her front door. As he rang the doorbell, he stared down at his scuffed shoes. What would he tell her? How would he say it? Why should he say it to begin with? 

The door swung open, and Bonnie’s concerned eyes were staring back at him. 

“Damon?” Her voice was soft. “Is everything alright?” 

He took a couple of seconds to listen to the neighbors, the rustling branches, even the soft lull of Aunt Sheila’s jazz music. “No,” he admitted as he bowed his head. “Not even remotely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Arabic terms this time, so a quick rundown for those who may be unfamiliar:
> 
> In Islam, the shahada is one of the five pillars, or one of the basic tenets of the religion. If a person recites the shahada while raising their right index finger and believes in it with their whole heart, then they’re considered a Muslim. While scholars will give you a more detailed description, that’s the gist!
> 
> Muslims perform wudu (known in English as an ablution). This is a washing ritual done with water to purify yourself before each prayer. This isn’t permanent, and if you break your wudu in-between prayers, you’ll need to re-do it. 
> 
> The adhan is the call to prayers, and is always performed before each prayer. Muslims are required to pray five times a day, and Maghrib is the name given to the prayer at sunset time (Fajr, Dhuhr, Asr, and Isha are the others).
> 
> Finally, Ramadan is a holy month of fasting and reflection, similar to Lent.


	22. confidants

He braced himself for the worst. Bonnie would slam the door in his face and insist that he didn't deserve her or her precious time. He would've deserved it too. Except her eyes softened as she gazed up at him, and she laced her fingers in his as if it were second-nature.

His hands were shaking with uncertainty, with the highlights and lowlights that had become routine. She didn't seem to notice, pulling him inside and towards her inner calm. They stood like this for a few seconds, before she let go and turned to the kitchen.

"Hold on. I've got the perfect pick-me up."

Damon followed her, crossing the threshold and stepping into the living room. This place hadn't changed a day since his childhood. Sure, Bonnie's leather jackets hung on the coat rack and her red studded heels were lying next to the bookshelves, right under old turkey paperweights and faded family photos. For better or worse, the Bennett home was a time capsule of decades long gone.

He peered at the framed photos on the wall. Bonnie and Anna were constants, no matter the decade; they had long mastered cheeky smiles and a sideways hug that made every photo seem like they were playing pretend. Photos from 1925 were identical to photos from 1985. Damon couldn't have been the only one who noticed. He just couldn't have.

The wafting scent of pomegranates betrayed Bonnie's presence long before her footsteps. She held out two mugs brimming with pomegranate tea. As he accepted the mug, Damon gave her a shy (almost vulnerable) smile and nudged them towards the bench outside.

As they sat down together, Bonnie listened to the whole story. She didn't once interrupt him as he explained everything, from the aftermath of his thesis defense to Aunt Liz's plans for Founder's Day and Dad's sudden conversion.

"Wow." She let out a low whistle. "No wonder you've seemed so tense."

He took another swig of tea, as if it were his precious bourbon, "That obvious?"

"Oh yeah." She set her mug down, scooting back so she could better observe the stars. "Going back to Zack's conversion, though... Is that really bugging you?"

Damon shook his head. No, a new faith might do Dad some good. Problem was, faith - and blood - was all they shared. Talking to Mom was easy. He knew every little thing about her, but Dad had always been a big question mark, with or without faith. They had magic, of course. Dad's magic was flashier, with an emphasis on combat; Damon, however, had always taken after Mom's alchemic skill. He abused magic as if it were the mundane, preferring to levitate books and synthesize liquor from its raw ingredients. Their connection there had fizzled faster than it had begun.

"We have nothing in common anymore," he confessed, following her gaze and mentally tracing lines between the stars. "I didn't want to hear his reasoning because then I – I thought we'd lose the one thing we had."

"He's your father, Damon. You share more with him than _faith_."

"When'd you reach that sorry conclusion?"

"When I visited them in 1994." Bonnie smirked at him as she refilled his mug. "You were… what, eight? Nine? You were super upset about something - heck if I remember what - but Zach dropped everything and stayed with you the whole time."

He flinched. "You remember that?"

That day – May 10, 1994 - had been forever etched in his memory. The final soccer game for Mystic Falls Elementary had been that afternoon, around the same time as the fated solar eclipse. Mystic Falls loved to commemorate every weird thing, so school cancelled the game. Damon had flung his backpack against the wall and scowled and nearly pitched a fit in front of the town's finest.

Nearly, because Dad took one look at his face and pulled away from the (loud, boring) party at Salvatore Manor. With a tight hug, he had led Damon to a corner of the backyard. He'd tossed a soccer ball and with an impish smile, he told Damon to go easy on him.

They played hours of soccer, derailed only by Stefan's grubby little hands. His waddling toddler of a brother had latched onto that ball and tried, over and over again, to stuff that thing into his mouth. (Only so much a little kid could chew on.)

If Damon focused long and hard on the moment, he could imagine Bonnie peering from the windows inside – but honestly, he didn't remember her. All eyes would've been on Dad, throwing his entire body in front of Damon and protecting an invisible goal with his life.

Bonnie's voice was soft, "Zach isn't a talker, but he loves you more than you'll ever know."

A stupid smile was tugging on his face as he looked at her with new understanding. "Maybe I should head back and hear him out."

At this time of night, Mom and Dad were probably watching a movie or catching up on their reading or – doing whatever it was old people did. For once, he wouldn't return to an empty home.

"It would mean the world to him." She leaned forward, with newfound hope in her posture. "One bright spot in this mess, right?"

"Maybe." His emotions must've seeped into his tea, because when he took another sip, it tasted of regret. He'd been too quick to judge – and now, he could only hope that Dad would welcome him with open arms.

This mistake couldn't be kissed away or dispelled. Emotions – real, volatile ones – were harder to erase, even if he had misjudged the situation.

She nudged his shoulder, with that smug expression he'd long since learned to associate with her. "In other news, you're going to de-spell Jeremy's watch, right? I think the kid plans on holding onto that as long as he can."

"Is that possible?" Damon summoned Giuseppe's grimoire into his lap, forcing his tea mug to float in a steady, gentle ring around him.

Enchantments were easy: they were the first spells in a witch's arsenal. De-spelling said object was a lot more difficult. Every witch left their unique signature and occasionally their own failsafes. If Giuseppe had enchanted a watch to point to vampires, he would've also added a counter spell – and the formula for removing said enchantment. On the last page, he saw some rough, sepia-colored sketches with ticking minute and hour hands. Once again, the formula was in Latin.

"Right there," Bonnie said, pointing to the equation on the left-hand page. "You get your hands on the watch and you can remove the enchantments."

"Better question: do you think Aunt Liz's expecting the enchantment?"

If she wanted the watch for Founder's Day, it certainly wasn't for a museum display.

Bonnie shrugged, leaning on him like he was a super comfortable pillow. He should've cared about this intimacy, but there were far more pressing matters than confirming or denying a crush.

She said with a twinge of regret, "Probably. Back then, everyone knew Jonathan Gilbert could identify a vampire as easily as the time."

Of course. If he de-spelled the device, he would out himself as a vampire sympathizer. Mom and Dad weren't exactly displaying their powers in broad daylight. Worse still, the town charter insisted that no supernatural being could sit on the Founders' Council. That kind of power could threaten the "precarious balance" of Mystic Falls. As much as he wanted to screw the town over, he couldn't take Mom and Dad down with him.

"Your choice, Damon." She finished off her tea, rising to snatch his mug from thin air. "I know the world's falling apart, but you don't have to add to it."

He raised an eyebrow at her as they rose to their feet. "Wasn't planning on it."

Bonnie's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I don't think anyone here does."

As she stood on the top step, she set the mugs aside and moved forward. Her hands were trembling - her whole body was, really - as she took the plunge and pressed her lips to his.

Y'Allah, did she have to? He could feel his heart was furiously beating against his ribcage. The heat was rising to his (flushed) cheeks and he - he wanted this. He wanted her. He wanted her so much more than he had any right to and yet-

He pulled back. "Bonnie…"

"What?" She craned her head towards his heart. "You're like a hummingbird, Damon. You can't hide your heart from me."

"That's not it." He took a deep breath. "Bonnie, you - you're technically a _minor_."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "So?"

He couldn't date her. Bonnie would never know adulthood. She inhabited eternal adolescence, always on the cusp of adulthood but never fully embracing it. She could play house, with health insurance and a mortgage and all that fun stuff, but she couldn't stay there. Not long enough for a life.

"So it doesn't feel right. You could get out of high school right now and go to Whitmore, but it wouldn't change the facts. I'm twenty five, Bonnie. I'm not growing any younger."

Her face morphed into an unreadable mask as she stared down at his ever-fidgeting hands. If hearts could shatter, his would've. For the first time, he was holding back on something he actually wanted. What a sick, sick joke.

"You're kidding me." She raised her eyebrows at him, careful to peer into his eyes for those tell-tale signs. (She wouldn't find any, not this time.) "You can't date me because... you're too old for me?"

He shook his head. "Nah. By that logic, you're both too young and too old."

"Gee, _thanks_."

"Has anyone told you that you have an attitude problem?"

"Sure, but they were…. authority figures." She blinked back surprise as new gears clicked into place. "It weirds you out, right? That I hang out with Stefan and the others all the time?"

Damon pressed his lips together. "Nnnot exactly. If that were it, skipping school would've fixed that one."

School and (super young) friends were only symptoms of the underlying issue. If he was going for the truth, then he had to say it in its entirety. She could handle it.

"I'm growing up, Bonbon." His smile must've been the saddest one he could muster because he sure wasn't feeling it. "I've finished school. I'm gonna get a job, once I'm done with my big road trip, and that means an apartment, proper health insurance... Maybe even a couple of pets."

Children. Marriage. Things he left unsaid, because if she were really old enough, she would get it.

"I could help," she murmured, tracing the worry lines across his forehead. "I've told you, I've had experience."

"You really haven't." Damon was going to regret this, he was so going to - "Bon, I need someone who'll understand everything I'm going through. Wrinkle lines, PTA meetings, annoying aunties... You don't inhabit that world. You're never going to."

She wrapped her arms around him, and as her metal necklace brushed against his chest, he was suddenly aware of its chilling luster. He gasped for air - so this was how he died? In the arms of the girl he loved? What a way to go.

Except she loosened her grip on him long enough to kiss him again.

"You are _so_ stupid, Salvatore."

As her warm tears spilled onto his cheeks, they burned with rage and remorse. He didn't want to let go - not if this was the last one; he wrapped a hand around the base of the neck and returned every once of her love.

"I know," he murmured.

When he let go and stared into her eyes, his reflection was frowning back at him. He'd never seen a vampire cry before, he realized. Now, he wished he never had.

 

 

On his way to the Camaro, Damon stumbled over empty steps. He would've crashed into that side door too, had he not taken a moment to breathe. So he leaned against it and pulled out his phone.

Everything was out to betray him, wasn't it? The thesis, the family, and now the love life (in precisely that order). What next? Jenna and Mason exiling him from wine night?

That sounded ridiculous even in his head, but he couldn't help it. The world was crashing down on him, and this time, he didn't think he could lift it again on his shoulders.

He had one missed text from Alaric:

**Good news: Isobel DID grow up here. She attended high school in the next town over, and would've been sixteen when she gave birth to Elena. Everything matches up. Bad news: there's no way Elena can reconnect with her.**

Thank God. Damon let out a small laugh as he fired a text in return.

Thanks for checking in. I'll convince them not to go on their whirlwind tour to find her.

**no need. Jenna already talked her down.**

Jenna? Really? Damon refreshed his phone. No new messages for clarification or elaboration. His Jenna did that?? She really was growing up.

Pulling up her speed-dial, he called her. As soon as he heard that click, he said, "So Jenn, I heard that you talked Elena out of finding Isobel."

"Oh my god! Day, I was just about to call you!"

He couldn't help laughing. Even over the phone, he could picture her little huff of indignation. "Sorry, the grapevine was faster."

"So I'm finding out." She sighed of relief. "But yeah, I actually did it! I smacked down the law, and Elena listened."

"Good." He allowed relief to color his voice as he climbed into the car. "She doesn't need to go on some wild goose chase."

Dead women usually told no tales. When Elena sought further answers, as she would, Uncle Grayson's old medical files and Alaric's memories would complete the picture. No sense in running off right before midterms.

Jenna's laugh was warm, with none of her usual stress or anxiety. "Right? She's with Alaric now and I am _so glad_. For a moment there, I thought she and Stefan would, I don't know, run off and find her or something equally stupid."

Damon almost rolled his eyes. "They're smarter than that. Give them some credit."

"I know, I… I remember our high school days and how stressful they were, and I keep thinking, I can't protect them from everything."

No, she couldn't. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Peace and quiet were a luxury, much like time. He really should've known, however - he wasn't the only one trying to shield the kids from the unknown.

Heh, Tanner was wrong. Jenna was the most capable one of them all.

Jenna continued, before he could interrupt, "The real world'll come crashing down soon enough, you know? The least we could do is show them the way." 

"Yeah, you did good. I'll bring you a gold star."

She laughed. "Bring extra. Remember, Mason's hosting wine night tomorrow – and we're supposed to meet Kathy too."

Like he could forget. Knowing his luck, Mason picked the most dim-witted girl in the room and they would have to listen to inane chatter about celebrities. Or worse, _home decor_. They were (way) too young to get starry-eyed about couch patterns.

"Don't remind me," Damon settled on saying as he turned the Camaro back into the road. "The less I think about it, the better."

"I'm sure she's not that bad. She can't beat Jules."

"Ah, yes, six hours of Fashion Disasters. My kind of party." Damon let out a disgusted, almost inhuman noise.

"Damon! Give her a chance. She might not be so bad."

He groaned. "I'll think about it."

Before she could sling some more guilt (Jenna had never approved of Andi or Meredith, and she had let him know it), he hung up on her and focused on the drive home. It was shorter this time. No winding shortcuts or scenic routes, because honestly?

He had to face the consequences. Better sooner than later. So when he got home and stepped across the threshold, he waited for that inevitable berating. He waited for their disappointed stares and awkward silence. He waited for that slow, stern _Gattino_ … echoed on their lips.

(Dad would say he could do better, no that he should've done better, and Mom would let her shoulders sag with disappointment. They didn't need discipline to ruin him.)

His heart beat a little faster as he turned the corner and walked into the den. Stefan and Mom were curled up on the couch with old photo albums, while Dad was in his favorite armchair, flipping through channels on TV. The air hummed with old Arabic jazz tunes. The second their eyes met, Dad's entire face lit up like the stars outside. Damon could feel the warmth radiating off his family as he took another step towards them. 

Dad asked, as he levitated a plate of lemon bars over, "You ready?" 

Damon gave him a slow smile as he accepted the offering. "As ready as I'll ever be."


	23. traditions

After that night, Damon no longer tiptoed on eggshells with Mom and Dad. Once every single secret had been bared out in the open, there was little point in negotiating between truth and lies. He could trust in their opinion, and in turn, they could trust his word.

Dad still seasoned the mansaf with too much salt, and Mom still hummed soft jazz tunes when she thought no one was home. New traditions would be forged out of Friday afternoon lunches, and for the first time in months, Damon could hear himself breathe.

Together, they'd ebbed out a safe and comfortable space. While Damon wouldn't call himself a homebody by any sense of the imagination, he'd grown to crave their company. Even Stefan was frowning less. Sure, he squirmed under Mom's warm kisses, and he argued with Dad's political views. He was a kid, and kids pushed against the boundaries their parents set. Kids also tested how far they could fly from their parents' nest.

In this case, Stefan had lost before he'd even spread his wings. Midterms were almost here for Mystic Falls High, and Mom and Dad wanted him to succeed. They _also_ had a fundraiser to plan at the local masjid, leaving Damon to "babysit" him before heading to Lockwood Manor in the late evening.

See, tomorrow was the boys' big AP History exam, and Alaric would take no prisoners. The kids had their study routine down to an art, too: as they combed through their outlines on giant whiteboards, every decade received equal attention.

"Come on, Ty - you can't stay on Youth Legislature unless you get a B on this exam," Stefan was saying with a huff, and for a moment, Damon saw himself arguing with a younger Mason. The Lockwoods never changed.

"I know that," Tyler retorted, leaning forward and throwing his entire upper body on the coffee table. "It's just - this week's been the worst. I'm starting to think I'm like the Hulk. I see red and BAM! Next thing I know, the water fountain's broken. _Again_."

"You would've also turned green," Matt reminded him with a slight eye roll. "If you really have superpowers, I think the Raccoon Prophet would've known."

"Hey!" Stefan scowled. "That only happened once!"

Tyler clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You still predicted it."

He and Matt exchanged amused glances before bursting into laughter. The roar of the wind outside overshadowed them, and - and it was rolling right into the den, swirling the papers around in a pint-sized tornado.

Damon leaped forward from his position on the couch and rushed towards Matt. This kid should've _panicked_ and ran for the hills, or the staircase, or even - anywhere but here. Magic was staring him in the face, and yet Donovan pushed through the sudden gust. Papers were swirling all around them; the curtains were rippling with newfound speed; and even the tables were shaking under new pressure.

Matt slammed onto Stefan, pushing him onto the Persian rug below them. "Stefan! Earth to Stefan!"

Stefan's dazed, lifeless face could only gaze up at his friend. "I…"

If he didn't act _now_ , that gust would steal more than their precious exam outlines. Taking a step back, Damon rolled up his sleeves and stretched out his hand. As he gazed at his palm, he pictured the roaring gusts as if they were swirling along the edge of his skin. "Disperse," and the howl ceased.

Papers were scattered to distant (and somewhat lofty) corners of the room. So, Damon focused again, nudging each paper to its original owner and place. Once he was certain everything was where it needed to be, he turned towards the kitchen. No need to implicate himself further, and definitely no need to -

"Whoa." Matt let out a low, impressed whistle. "It runs in the family?"

"That was my first thought too," Tyler said, not even bothering to keep his voice down. "Damon's a real-life superhero."

So Stefan had told Matt the truth. It was only a matter of time, Damon realized, before Stefan's entire social circle were privy to the truth - and if they weren't careful, the whole town too. God, as if his life weren't crazy enough…

Damon allowed himself a sigh of despair as he headed towards the tea cabinet and pulled out a blend. Jeremy was sitting at the nearby kitchen table with a mountain's worth of flashcards. He was almost buried in them too, poor kid. Shame that his Biology exam wouldn't grade him on preparedness. He could've earned a Scout badge or two.

"Thanks for the espresso, by the way," Jeremy called, peering up from a couple of flashcards.

"No problem." Damon poured himself a steaming mug of green tea and joined his kid brother at the table. Hard to find space amongst all those notes, but he managed. "Looks like you're making serious progress."

In the middle of the scattered pile, he spotted Jeremy's old pocket watch. The hands forever rested at 2:22 PM. A side effect of using it as a homing beacon, probably. Scumfell hadn't treated it with care.

Damon set his tea aside. "Can I borrow your watch for a bit?"

Jeremy blinked back surprise. "Sure. Think you can fix it?"

"Maybe." Damon frowned, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. Recharging or replacing the battery shouldn't be a big deal, but this thing was so old that he should entrust a real mechanic with its inner heart. "I've gotta warn you, though – Aunt Liz wants this thing for Founder's Day."

Jeremy sighed, heaving his arms onto the table. "I know. I don't get the fuss over this dumb thing. Doesn't even tell the time right."

"Maybe that's the big secret," Damon said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Ewwww." Jeremy scrunched up his whole face. "Let's not go there."

Damon snorted. Now that he had the watch in his hand, maybe he could distract Stefan with a project… "If I fix this, will you let Aunt Liz borrow it?"

Jeremy tilted his head to the side. "I guess? Why does she care so much?"

"Long story short? This thing dates back to when our town was founded. It's probably necessary for the parade or something."

A low, mournful groan escaped Jeremy's lips. "I get that history's important, but I don't see how a watch ties into it."

"You and me both," Damon murmured, opening the watch and peering at its inner workings. "A hundred and fifty years wasn't that long ago, either."

"Sure wasn't." Jeremy returned to his studying, turning over a flashcard and scanning its contents. "Knock yourself out, by the way. I'll consider it my Christmas present."

"Um, no." Damon closed the watch, tucking it into his pocket. "You're getting something way better than a new watch, trust me."

"I'd love to see you try, Day," Jeremy said with a laugh, gathering up his notes for one more rapidfire round.

He knew when he wasn't wanted, so Damon grabbed his tea and peered back into the den. "Hey, brother? Think you could take a study break?"

 

 

 

 

A few minutes later, the Salvatore boys were huddled around the basement's counters with the pocket watch. Turning it over and over in his hands, Stefan peered at its inner gears.

"No wonder Aunt Liz and Logan wanted this." Stefan let out an impressed whistle. "This can detect a vampire half-way across town."

"Which is precisely _why_ we need to de-spell it," Damon said, pulling out his ancestor's grimoire. "We don't need to help the Council with whatever half-baked scheme they're cooking up this year."

Stefan peered down at the grimoire (and the intricate equations scribbled in Giuseppe's cursive). "We'd have to be careful. It's a two-part spell. One for the homing beacon, one for the whistle."

"Whistle?"

Stefan pointed towards the metal knob on the watch. "This. You activate it, and every vampire in a five mile radius will hear it loud and clear."

If Aunt Liz wanted to use that on Founder's Day, then she must've had a game plan: distract the civilians with ruffles and revelry while rounding up every last vampire within hearing range. If she succeeded, who knew where she - or anyone else involved - would draw the line. Would werewolves be next? Witches? Anyone with an inkling of supernatural talent?

This watch could inadvertently shift the balance of the town as they knew it. Damon's motives, for once, seemed particularly selfish on his end.

"Think we can remove it?"

"We'd have to be careful. One wrong move, and we break this thing in half."

They couldn't afford that. One, the watch was a priceless heirloom, and two, Jeremy would be pissed. Damon couldn't break his promise with a metaphorical sledgehammer.

Damon let out a sigh. "What should we do? If we let her have it, she'll kill every vampire in town."

Stefan raised his eyebrows. "Don't you want that?"

A few months ago, maybe. Bonnie's arrival had complicated things. He couldn't lose her now. He had stomped all over her heart, knowing that vampires could feel _something_ \- and what kind of man would he be if he let her die? A cowardly one?

He shook his head, after a moment of deliberation. "We're not vampire hunters."

Stefan's expression softened, with new, awakened hope in his eyes. "You've changed."

"Not that much. I didn't say I liked our little bloodsuckers," Damon said, slinging his arm across his brother's shoulders.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." Stefan squirmed under the sudden affection, but there was no denying the crinkles at the edge of his eyes.

So Damon kissed his brother's forehead. "Sure does."

"Gah!" Stefan squirmed, reaching up and wiping the spot where Damon's lips had pressed against his skin. "So uh - how're we de-spelling the device?"

"I don't know," Damon said with a shrug. "How do _you_ want to go about it?"

"You're asking _me?_ Don't you have more experience with this sort of thing?"

Under normal circumstances, Damon would've taken the reins. This wasn't his first time removing an enchantment; far from it, actually. The issue was more - Stefan had troubling raw power. Under his touch, even the most intricate and detailed spell could blossom to its full potential.

Their alteration of the tomb spell had screamed it loud and clear. ("You should've been dead," Bonnie had told him almost a whole month ago.) He should've been buried six feet deep, but instead, he owed his continued existence to the curious kid who didn't take no for an answer.

If a challenge had landed on their table, then why not give it to Stefan? The time felt right. If he were as strong as Damon suspected, then the kid could de-spell the device before dinner. Stefan's connection to nature almost bordered on the extraordinary, and until the rest of the universe caught on, Damon would do _anything_ to ensure that Stefan wouldn't lose it.

But instead of admitting his suspicions, Damon let go and turned towards the stairs. "I'm also going out of town after Christmas. Better you than me in case something goes wrong."

"So now you take responsibility for your actions." Stefan snorted, taking Giuseppe's grimoire into his hands. "If that's what you want, I'll make it happen."

"Thanks." Damon's relief was audible as he turned towards the stairs. "Want me to bring anything back from the Lockwoods?"

Stefan peered up at him. "You're going over now? What about babysitting us?"

"Our liquor cabinet's empty, Jeremy and Tyler are _actually_ studying…. I think you guys are growing up on me."

A troubling thought, if he were fully honest. They were his kids (his little brothers forever and always): he had marathoned hundreds of shows with them; he had played pretend in their backyards; and he had even scrounged up meals when they slept over on weekends. Their parents had never been the best of friends - especially Dad and Uncle Richard, God, that was a fight in the making, but when it came to those six kids? Their parents would bury the hatchet for a few hours.

Hard to believe that those same waddling toddlers were all grown-up now, with exams and tests and formal dances - where had the time gone? Damon's smile must've been too nostalgic, as Stefan's face was turning a bright red.

He murmured, "Stop staring at me like that."

"Sorry, Stefanizo," Damon said with a small laugh. "I'm..." _so proud of you._ "I'm just thinking."

"Yeah, well - think about something else. We'll be fine."

Damon lightly pressed his hand against Stefan's back, ushering him upstairs and back into the normal, mundane world of studying and cramming. "Easier said than done, little brother."

 

 

 

 

Wine Night was, truthfully, one of Damon's favorite traditions. For the past four years, he, Jenna, and Mason would gather in the Lockwoods' den with the fanciest bottles of wine they could afford and they would play games together, or reminisce about the past - or simply enjoy each other's company. They knew which games to avoid (Risk was an automatic no-no) as well as which games to anticipate (Apples to Apples, anyone?), and this year - Jenna and Mason were bringing their significant others. Mason had his Kathy, Jenna had her Alaric, and Damon? Well, Damon was standing alone before the Lockwoods' front door.

As he waited for Mason, Damon turned his head and pictured Bonnie's hundred-watt smile. She would've loved bringing fancy wine and cheese; sharing old memories; and spending time with people that loved and cared for her. She would've _wrecked_ Mason at Risk (for once), she would've commiserated with Jenna about theses, and more pressingly - she would've kept Ric on his toes.

But no, he had to open his big mouth and ruin it with _ethics._ Like always, he came alone. Like always, he was perpetually single, with aunties and grandmothers on his heels for a "nice Arab girl" to marry.

(If he had to answer one more question for that stupid set of biodata, he swore, he'd let his grandma write whatever her heart desired. Even if it was wrong and even if it ended up in yet another fruitless dead end.)

The door opened soon enough, with light blue eyes and closely cut black hair staring back at him. Those same eyes turned somber in a heartbeat before -

"Bro, you look like _hell."_

Damon found himself pulled into an impossibly tight hug, and for once, he didn't mind. Letting himself melt in his best friend's arms, Damon returned that warmth and wrapped his arms around his friend's neck.

With a huff, he admitted, "You don't know the half of it, Mace."

Mason's laugh was pained. "You're here now. Grab all the booze you want."

As they let go, Damon's gaze fell onto the young woman behind them, sipping red wine from a tall glass. Her long, chestnut-colored hair was in tight ringlets; her black leather jacket and skinny jeans echoed Bonnie more than a college student; and even her smirk was uncharacteristically arrogant. Her amber eyes met his and - and all he could see were the faded edges of a sepia photograph.

No way. Not here, not now.

Damon froze.

"Yo, Kathy!" Mason was all smiles and sunshine as he let go and turned towards the young woman. "Come here! I want to introduce you to my best friend!"

"Damon, right?" Her expression softened. In that moment, she felt more like a teenage girl - like Elena - than some old, dusty photograph locked in Giuseppe's grimoire. "It's so nice to meet you."

He only wished the feeling were mutual.


	24. confessions

A couple of centuries ago, Hans Christian Andersen had written a legendary fairy tale about doppelgängers. In it, a fully-formed shadow swapped lives with the protagonist, and no one had ever been the wiser.

The first time Damon read it, he hadn't understood why. He would know his best friends anywhere. A doppelgänger - a shadow self - couldn't replicate those tiny quirks or little inflections that made a person real. Their tell-tale signals were embedded into the fabric of their whole being, and no one could rip every seam apart. Jenna's identical twin studies, back at Whitmore, had indicated the same thing: no mimicry is a perfect one.

Yet the warm, sympathetic expression on Katherine's face wasn't hers to own, and her furrowed brow echoed a young, somber girl who had grown up too fast.

As she approached, Damon's heart sank to the ground. If she were anywhere near the shadows of legend, Elena wouldn't have much longer to live.

"Nice to meet you too," he murmured, unable to meet her questioning gaze.

Katherine's expression softened. "I can't say I ever thought I'd meet you in person. Mason's stories were larger-than-life."

"No kidding." Damon raised his eyebrows in Mason's direction. "I hope they were good ones."

"Ah, uh," Mason coughed loudly. "You don't need to worry about that."

With that sudden swerve to the left? Damon's reputation had slammed into the gutter, and Katherine's immediate refusal to look him in the eye said far too much. Worst part was, Damon couldn't imagine what would make a centuries-old vampire's ears blush. Surely she'd seen _and_ participated in far worse than a 25-year old warlock.

"Okay, um…" Damon folded his arms, stifling the urge to puke. "Can I at least ask how you two met?"

"It was Trivia Night at the bar," Katherine said, swirling her wine glass. "Mace here happened to win every single round, and I said to myself, Kathy, you'd be an _idiot_ to ignore someone with this much potential."

Mason's cheeks turned a faint red. "You were winning. You so didn't need my help."

"You were also the only one who could keep up. Good thing they placed us in the same bracket." Katherine's expression turned almost wistful as she reached over and tapped his forearm. Mason flinched, only relaxing when Kathy let go. Weird. Mason usually adored those weird, overly affectionate touches.

Damon couldn't help admitting, "You're gonna give Jenna and Alaric a run for their money."

"That's the plan." Mason was almost bursting with pride as he leaned over and brushed stray hairs out of Katherine's face.

After the longest soul-searching gaze Damon had ever witnessed – and he had been around for the hot mess that had been Jenna and Logan – he coughed into his fist. "I'll uh, I'll go grab the cheese. Give you lovebirds some privacy."

Mason pressed his lips together. "Actually, uh – Kathy? Mind giving us a moment?"

"Not at all." Katherine shook her head, turning back towards the liquor cabinet. "In fact, take all the time you need. I'll let you know when your friends are here, and if I don't? Assume I got a little too acquainted with your blanket fort."

 

 

As they entered the kitchen, Mason turned on the sink and leaned against the kitchen counter. "So… you mind telling me _why_ you look like shit?"

"It's a long story." Damon busied himself with arranging and cutting the various cheeses on one of Aunt Carol's fanciest platters (the gold leaf one). The more he focused on the width of each slice, on the honey drizzled over the brie wheel, and even on the placement of each grape, the less brainpower he could devote to the truth. "Short version? My thesis is wrong, my love life's in shambles, and - and this is the best part, Dad converted and _forgot to tell me and Stefan_."

Faith didn't define Damon. It never could, when he had eschewed it in favor of worshipping homemade cider and stolen kisses; his faith was in the friends he kept and the magic he held in the palm of his hands. But Dad's faith? Mom's faith? Those had been rock-solid, stronger than even the prettiest diamond. Stefan had been pulled into their foundation, and Stefan had deserved the truth far earlier than this.

As Damon reached for a nearby bottle of wine, he knew Dad didn't "forget" to tell them. Shame and guilt had colored every conversation for the past month – and some small part of Damon wondered if he had ever crossed into adulthood.

Sure, he had a house and a teenage kid, but he was also tied down by faith and family. He didn't even have his own checking account. Figures that he was pouring out his heart and red wine into the most ornate wine glasses he could find. 2009 was officially the worst.

"Shit." Mason's expression was beyond horrific. "You didn't tell me any of this because…"

"Because you were dealing with your own crap," Damon said, pointing his glass in the direction of the living room. "You had enough on your plate without adding my garbage."

Mason grunted. "What if I want your garbage?"

"You don't." Now Damon turned to meet his friend in the eye. "I inflicted just about all of it on myself, and _akhi_ , if I had a penny for every time you swooped in and saved the day..."

"You wouldn't have a cent to your name," Mason finished, standing at his full height and setting Damon's wine glass aside for him. "Sometimes, I swear, you're so stupid. I want to know everything that's going on with you."

There was a long, awkward pause before Mason dared to ask, "Is that why you cancelled all our Skype dates?"

"Kind of?" Damon gave an awkward shrug. "My entire life was falling apart. The least I could do was leave you out of it."

Mason rushed over and embraced Damon with his whole heart, squeezing him tightly and resting his head on Damon's shoulders. "Yeah, well – don't do that anymore."

For the first time in four months, Damon felt himself melt into his friend's arms. Every single piece of armor had been shed on the kitchen counter and he could – he could see his best friend turn into an Impressionist painting, with splotches of black hair and purple fabric where there should've been full, HD definition.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured, ignoring the trembling in his voice.

Mason pulled away long enough to ruffle his hair. " _I'm_ sorry. I should've been here sooner."

Damon couldn't fight the laugh tickling in his throat. They hadn't seen each other in maybe six months, and just like that – Mason managed to ease his spirits without trying. It must've been something innate, or perhaps a natural part of owning such a big, generous heart.

"N-no kidding," Damon managed to say. "Maybe I would've stayed out of trouble a little longer."

"Nah. We would've raised hell, and Carol and Liz would've kicked our sorry asses back to Kingdom Come."

The mental image was enough to fight every single mangled sob, because Mason had _always_ been the champion of dumb ideas. Their month-long ban from Target after a Halloween Parade? Mason's idea. Their first attempt at Lockwood Cider? Also Mason's idea. Prom night ending with a literal bang of explosions rather than a whimper? Actually, that was Damon's idea, but the general gist had been Mason's.

Trouble beckoned at their heels, and like the young, immature children they'd been, they had rushed into it face-first. With Mason, Damon didn't need to fill a room with words. His presence was larger than the entire mansion, and now that he was back – Damon didn't want to let go.

It was, fittingly, Mason who pulled back long enough to say, "I don't hear Kathy anymore."

"She's probably sleeping, I wouldn't –"

"I don't hear _anything._ " Mason furrowed her brow. "She tosses and turns in her sleep, and I can't even hear that."

"Shit." Damon's face turned pale. "Where do you think – "

Mason was already turning his back and reaching for his car keys. "Nowhere good. Call Jenna and Alaric; I think we're gonna be late."

"Call us for what?" Jenna's voice echoed as she and Alaric stepped across the threshold.

Alaric's countenance was somber, almost regretful as his gaze flickered towards them.

Damon only had to take one look before he let out a low, steady breath. "I think we have to cancel Board Game Night."

There was only one rule of thumb for their time-honored tradition: thou shalt play games to thy's heart content. The booze could be substituted, and the games changed every year, but the general principle was unbreakable.

Jenna's glowering face said plenty, from her impatient gaze to her pressed lips. As she folded her arms, Damon felt as if he were taking a final exam – and he was failing it. She hissed, "What do you mean, you're _canceling_ Board Game Night? Alaric even put off grading for a night to come and –"

"Something happened." Alaric gestured to the car keys clutched in Mason's palm. "Look, we can entertain ourselves for a few hours while you deal with whatever it is you've got going on."

"No." Jenna's voice was firm as she peered up at her boyfriend. "No, they're _not_ going to leave us behind again."

Damon and Mason exchanged uneasy glances. For years now, they had theoretically planned on easing Jenna into the wonderful world of the supernatural – and instead, they would probably die tonight. Not via evil doppelgänger, or rogue vampire, but via pissed off best friend.

(There were worse ways to go, Damon supposed, but none more painful.)

"Look, um, it's a long story, but we'll explain it with…" Mason's gaze grew desperate as he grabbed the cheese platter and motioned for them to head back. "Wayfinder. We'll explain it with Wayfinder."

Jenna raised her eyebrows in silent judgment. "You're going to explain this with a _tabletop game_?"

"Yeah, uh, Mace, you don't usually play those," Damon said, assisting Mason with what was left of the food. "If you're gunning for a Wayfinder analogy, let me do the talking."

 

 

As far as tabletop RP games went, Wayfinder was the most flexible: it utilized only one 20-sided die, with scary levels of character customization. Its plot and premise was rooted in modern-day Earth, as if the secrets and protection wards hadn't separated the magical from the mundane. Vampires, witches, and werewolves openly co-existed along humans, and open (political, racial, socioeconomic) dialogue often colored each and every gaming session.

Mason hadn't even touched the copy Damon had bought him for Christmas: there was a thick layer of dust over the plastic cover. While Alaric was assembling the map and helping Mason set up the pieces representing each character, Damon leaned on the edge of the couch and poured Jenna a glass of red wine.

"Okay, so our player party's made up of different classes and species. In this world, you _knew_ not everyone was human. Some people were witches, some were werewolves, and some –"

Jenna narrowed her eyes.

"This is also a super roundabout way of saying we fucked up, so we're going to explain why we wanted to cancel."

"Much better," Jenna said, sipping on her drink. "I've played Wayfinder, like, once, so fill me in."

"Our world has always had magic," Alaric began, glancing up at Mason and Damon for guidance. "It's hard to find, because it takes on many forms and shapes, but it lingers and consumes people. Most people are human, and that's how it is in Mystic Falls too. Thing is? Not _everyone's_ your average Joe."

Mason nodded. "So our party tonight has four people: Jenna the kickass human, Damon the warlock, Alaric the vampire hunter, and me – the werewolf."

He set down four pieces on their make-shift map: a book, a witch's hat, a crossbow, and a silver wolf. Jenna raised her eyebrows, sitting up a little straighter.

"Mason and I have been fighting the supernatural for a while. Alaric too, though we didn't know it until Career Night." Damon's throat grew dry as he looked over at her. "In a world like Wayfinder, you would've known from the very beginning, but in the one we live in? We've been way less honest."

They had intended to protect her from everything that went bump in the night. The less she knew, the less likely Katherine would target her and those in her cocoon, or so they had once thought. Katherine had spun a tight, twisted web into the fabric of this community, and she would pull each string until she got what she wanted.

Whatever her long game was, it was well-earned: the pieces were falling into place, and neither Damon nor Mason could detect her next move.

Jenna peered down at the board, her expression growing unreadable. "Soooo… let me get this straight. You and Mason have been a _warlock_ and a _werewolf_ this whole time, and you didn't even try to tell me about it?"

Mason's laugh was a nervous, pained one. "Yep."

"Prove it." Jenna set down her wine glass. "If you're really not human, you should have some, I don't know, special powers or something."

Damon scooted back on the couch, holding out his right hand and rolling back his blazer sleeve. With one murmur, " _Incendia_ ," the edges of his fingertips flickered with little sparks of fire.

"Holy _fuck._ " Jenna recoiled, nearly hitting the back of her head against the armrest. "You're – you're –"

His voice was hoarse, "Yeah."

The fire wouldn't burn him. It never had, when it danced under his control with its orange-tinted edges. Without another word, he condensed it into one ball, centered in the palm of his hand, and he held it up as a silent peace offering.

Jenna's shoulders tensed as she then looked over at Mason. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to," Mason admitted, avoiding her gaze. His eyes were a faded yellow, rather than their usual warm brown, and exhaustion had settled into his features. "I was selfish, Jen. Day and I were going through all this weird shit, and you were – you were the one person who made us feel normal."

"So we thought hey, maybe we _can_ be normal around her, and one thing spiraled into another." Damon extinguished his fire, watching it dissipate into smoke. "We're sorry. We should've – "

Jenna sighed, reaching out for his hands. "Yeah, well, you didn't, and…." She paused, blinking back immediate realization. "I'm sorry, did you also say Alaric was a vampire hunter?"

Alaric's cheeks grew red. "Guilty as charged."

Her shoulders drooped as she let out several low breaths in quick succession. She squeezed Damon's palms with all her force, as if she was barely holding on and – and tears were streaming down her face.

(Shit, tears? Damon couldn't wipe those away, not when he had been the cause. How many hearts could he break in a single year?)

"You all knew," she murmured. "You fucking _knew_ , and you still – "

Damon leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. "We did. We're sorry."

"We're _mega_ sorry," Mason amended, rushing over to hug Jenna from behind. Resting his head on her shoulder, he scooted her over and – and they were a sandwich, with Jenna right in the middle of their affection.

Alaric was struggling to keep his face even, but the edges of his eyes crinkled as he approached them.

"Come on, Jen… we wouldn't have kept this a secret if we weren't – "

"Ric, I don't care so much about the vampire slayer part." Jenna's voice was strained and almost inaudible. "I mean, yes, I care, that's _huge_ and maybe something to mention on a second date, but my best friends here have just lied to me for half my life and – "

She let out a strangled, almost inhuman, noise as she fell backwards into Mason's arms. "You suck. Y'all suck so much."

Damon and Mason, in unison, reached out for Alaric's arms and pulled him right into their Jenna sandwich.

They felt as if an eternity were passing them by. Jenna's snot was all over Damon's blazer, and her eyes were so puffy and bloodshot and – and it sucked. It sucked that she was crying on her favorite night of the year, just because her friends thought (naively) that she deserved protection. Maybe, it was _them_ that she needed protection from.

It was Alaric who let go first, just long enough to pull Jenna away into their own, two-person cuddle.

"Jen," he murmured, wiping away her tears with the edges of his thumbs, "Jen, I am so sorry. If you want to break up with me –"

A small, burning fire blazed in Jenna's eyes as she pulled on his shirt collar and pressed her lips against his. "Nope," she gritted in-between short, chaste kisses. "You're. Not. Going. To. Even. Go. There."

Alaric's shoulders sagged with relief as he wrapped his arms around her waist and returned those kisses. The world ceased to exist beyond them as they – oh, God, they were definitely rubbing their arms all over each other and Jenna was wrapping her legs around him and – Damon wasn't going to watch or elaborate further. He figured his friends deserved as much, and so, with a sigh of relief, he turned his attention to his phone.

Katherine might've fled Lockwood Manor, to fulfill some evil scheme, but he'd deal with that burning bridge when he came to it. Jenna was too important to leave behind: her safety and comfort came first, and it would always come first. Someone else was equally important, however, and she deserved to know that her archnemesis was in town.

So he took a breath and churned out a text, no matter how much he wanted to avoid saying this over the phone –

"Who're you texting?" Mason's grin was almost as big as the moon. "Your almost- _girlfriend_?"

Damon snorted. "Of course not."

As he pressed send, he mentally double-checked the message to Bonnie:

Katherine's in town. As in, the vampire who turned you. Stay safe and be careful.

He couldn't get a good read on Katherine. Wayfinder's default maps, with their winding turns and skyscraper-like obstacles, were easier to navigate. Damon knew the ins and outs of an urban fantasy: magic lingered in even the most mundane of objects and places. Mana – the energy that fueled life – would buzz in his ears in sacred spaces and the secular. Each stop would illuminate the one after it, but in Mystic Falls?

All he was hearing was static. Katherine Pierce was on a different playing field, and he and Mason were drowning in her intricate web. Bonnie, on the other hand, had centuries of experience with the supernatural, and Bonnie knew Katherine like the back of her tattooed wrist. If she couldn't handle Katherine, then well – there wasn't much hope in their future.

Mason rolled his eyes at him. "You're fooling absolutely no one, but okay."

"Hey, guys, I think we're ready for a round!" Alaric leaned over the table, setting the pieces at one edge of the map. "Show off your DM skills, Salvatore, and tell us how it's done!"

As they sat down for one final round, Damon closed his eyes and listened to the buzzing, tingling energy in Lockwood Manor. It was far, far richer than before – and he hoped that this time, it would stay that way.

 

 

When Damon finally returned home, Salvatore Manor was quiet. The floorboards creaked with each step; the nightlights plugged into every hallway illuminated his way upstairs; and shadows teemed in every little corner. Everyone must've fallen asleep a long time ago.

As he passed a hallway mirror, he could've sworn that he saw Stefan standing there. He stopped there, peering into his reflection. Jenna's snot had dried onto his t-shirt; new stubble was growing on the edge of his chin; and his eyes were growing heavy-set, but he sure didn't see his little brother behind him.

"Hm, that's weird," he murmured, taking off his jacket. "Must be a trick of my imagination."

(Or maybe Stefan had crept past him already in search of a midnight snack. The floorboards didn't always creak underneath a warlock's feet.)

As Damon stepped into his room, he checked his phone again. And again.

No new messages.

The warmth of his comforters was beckoning, and Damon caved to his (normal, human) urges. The sooner he caught some sleep, he knew, the sooner he could figure out what tomorrow would bring.


	25. winter stars

Once again, Damon found himself near the edge of a dusty road with numerous multicolored stars in his hand. As he walked towards the horizon, giant cloth bins filled with thousands of them, from smaller red ones to the larger, blue-tinted five-pointed beauties. A strong, sturdy wooden ladder connected the grimy road to the pitch black sky, right beside a wooden table with unintelligible blueprints.

Only the old, rusty lamplights illuminated his way. As he stared up at the empty sky, Damon let out a bitter laugh. "Seriously? What do you want?"

Silence – and even dimmer lights – greeted him. It wouldn't ever be that easy. Even in the center of his mind, he couldn't grasp the answers he sought. So he stuffed the stars into his pocket and moved forward.

" _Phasmatos incendia_ ," he murmured, watching the fire surge from his fingertips and illuminate the wooden table. The blueprints were ever-shifting, with a map that switched from Arabic (a language he had never mastered) to Italian to English and back, in an eternal loop that moved faster than he could read. The letters shifted too, and the longer he stared at them, the more he could feel the migraine in the back of his head.

He sighed, extinguishing the fire and pulling out the stars again. He had no idea where they were supposed to go, but he couldn't stop here. He couldn't turn back, and he certainly couldn't fling himself off the edge. He had to finish what he started.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to the tiniest star in his hand. "I failed all of you."

Its light flickered as he held it between his fingers, and the sky unfurled into a giant black grid. He furrowed his brow, staring at the stars between his fingers and then at the precise markings above him.

So he added, "Don't worry. Even if I did, I'll still make sure you'll go where you're supposed to."

An all-too familiar voice called from below, "Even without a map?"

Damon drew in a low, slow breath. He didn't dare look behind him, even in a dream – one wrong move, and he would feel that aching loneliness again. He didn't even think he deserved this conversation. He'd already screwed up things between them.

"You know me," he blustered, affixing the little star onto one of the gridded squares. "Sometimes, I can be _so_ stupid."

"Even the stupidest ones need a little help, if they're willing to admit it." Her voice was soft, almost melancholy as she unfurled those blueprints behind him. As her fingers traced over the undecipherable, she cursed under her breath. "Okay, a _lot_ of help."

He couldn't help the laughter escaping his lips – God, he missed her. He missed every little thing about her, to the point where he was actively imagining her in his dreams. If she ever responded to his text, then maybe he could say that to her face.

For now, he would settle for holding onto the ladder and glancing over his shoulder at her, and memorizing every little detail. How her brow furrowed when she was intent on saving someone from their own stupidity, or how the edges of her eyes crinkled when she peered up into his eyes.

"You missed me," she murmured, her expression softening considerably. "You really missed me."

"Of course I did." He swallowed his hesitation, jumping off the ladder to greet her properly (and dropping his stars back into that cloth bin). "Bonnie, you were – no, you _are_ important to me."

This time, he rushed to embrace her, inhaling her citrus-y scent and closing his eyes to savor the moment. If only this were the dunya – the waking world – and if only he could tell her how much she had restored his faith in vampires, in those who didn't share his magic, without a single word.

Bonnie buried herself in his chest, wrapping her arms around him too. "Yeah, well - you have a funny way of showing it."

"I know. I shouldn't have said what I did." He held on a little tighter, peering down at her again. For a dream, her touch felt real. A little _too_ real, actually. "Hang on. If I'm gonna apologize, I want to wait until we're awake."

"You don't have to." Her voice was softer, gentler as she clung to his shirt. "See, um – that's the best part about being a vampire."

"Hold on. You missed me so much that you'd _walk into my dreams_ to see me again?" His laugh was incredulous. "All this time, I thought I had it bad when you –"

She stood on the very edge of her toes and pressed a finger to his lips. "Weren't you about to apologize?"

"That was _before_ I realized you were waltzing into my head." His shoulders were shaking with laughter as he reached out for her wrist and gently set her hand back down. "How does it work? You just think about me and bam, you're here?"

"Sort of." Bonnie raised her eyebrows in amusement, pulling away and turning her attention back towards the blueprints. "More importantly, I uh, think you've got your work cut out for you."

"With the stars?" He shook his head. "Nah. I've got my trusty navigator. As long as we're together, we can put everything where they're supposed to be."

"Your trusty _navigators_. As in, plural." Bonnie teased, unfurling the blueprints and studying them for real. "So what do you say? Let's get down to business?"

He reached into one of the bins and nabbed a handful of stars. "You'd better believe it. Between you and me –"

"And me," Mason's voice called as his hands too reached into the bin. He shot Damon a lazy grin. "Like I'd let you do this on your own."

"Me either," Jenna's voice added, as she, Elena, and Stefan peered into another bin. "We're family. Let us help."

Stefan held up a giant, orange-tinted star towards his brother. "Yeah. We've got this, _akhi._ "

One by one, new ladders emerged from the darkness as people – his parents, Alaric, even Tyler and Matt – rolled them towards the edge of the dusty road. Not a single speck of dirt clung to their clothes as they climbed those ladders and accepted the stars into their hands. The grid grew lighter too, with less precisions than before.

So, as he turned towards his ladder, he gave Bonnie an encouraging smile. "Yeah. We're not alone anymore."

 

 

  

As he tossed and turned, the space between his sheets had never felt emptier.

His dreams might've had Bonnie and all his loved ones, but the dunya only had empty, lonely space and citrus-scented pillowcases. He must've missed her more than he thought. With a groan, Damon forced himself to sit up and reach for his phone.

Five missed calls, fifteen texts, and one voicemail at the odd hour of – of 1:45 PM?

Shit.

Returning his first missing call, he put it on speakerphone and yelled, "Hello?" as he threw on the first clothes he could find (dark-washed jeans, a loose steel blue button-down shirt, his silver gunblade necklace, a handknitted wool scarf, mismatched socks, and his old, navy duffle coat).

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty." Mason replied with an exhausted laugh. "How long were you out?"

"Nooo idea." Damon fastened the buttons on his duffle coat, bringing his phone with him as he headed into the kitchen. "Forever, from the sounds of it."

"Ouch. So uh, Kathy didn't come back last night. I've been looking for her _everywhere,_ but everyone thinks I've been looking for Elena."

"Well, they _are_ doppelgängers." Damon winced in sympathy. He couldn't imagine how easy that task had been. "Tell me you knew that _before_ you decided to date her?"

"Of course I did. I also knew that she was fucking desperate for something in Mystic Falls." So there had been a brain hidden amongst all that stuff and fluff. "I figured that if I pretended to fall in love with her and brought her here, I could keep an eye on her _and_ get you involved."

As far as plans went, that was the stupidest one he had heard all semester. Mason was far from a brilliant actor, and Damon certainly lacked the experience to handle someone as seasoned and ambitious as Katherine Pierce. Hell, _Bonnie_ and _Anna_ lacked the experience, and they were far too familiar with the tricks up her sleeve.

(Did Mason _want_ to get the grown-ups involved? Mom and Dad could probably wipe the slate clean, if they weren't so invested in planning this masjid fundraiser.)

Damon sighed. Loudly. "When were you planning on telling me any of this?"

"Oh, I don't know, during one of the numerous Skype dates we cancelled."

All this time, he could've known about the most powerful vampire Damon had ever encountered. He could've had months to prepare for her dramatic entrance, and he had squandered that precious opportunity to focus on his petty squabbles with Bonnie and Anna. Dammit, past him could've really used the upper hand here.

Katherine must've returned for something important. He couldn't imagine what would bring her back, though. Mystic Falls had little to offer, save for desiccated vampires and a girl who shared her face. Unless Elena held the key to the puzzle?

"Back up, first – you said she was desperate for something. Do you know what, exactly, she wanted?"

"Something called a moonstone." There was rustling of papers in the background. Mason lowered his voice, "The Lockwoods have had it for generations. I can't figure out where Carol's put it, but I give her that stupid gem and she'll waltz right out of here."

"No." Damon shook his head, even though he knew Mason couldn't see it. In-between bites of a super hasty breakfast, he elaborated, "If she was here for something _you_ owned, she would've returned."

Considering her unpleasant history with Jenna's new beau, no one could blame her for bailing on Wine Night. Damon would've bailed too, had his best friends waltzed in with either Andi or Meredith on their arms. Hell, he would've especially bailed if Bonnie had showed up with someone else.

(His heart twisted into knots at the thought; she felt the same, right? Why else had she waltzed into his dreams, time after time?)

"So you're saying it's more than a moonstone?" Mason drew in a breath. "What on Earth could she want?"

Something bigger than their entire town, if she turned tail and ran at the first sound of Alaric sharing the same space. Whatever it was, Damon figured that she would play her cards and take her winnings, and in the process, reveal her hand. In the meantime, they should check on the kids after school. See if they had caught wind of these mysterious shadow selves.

"I don't know," Damon admitted after a moment. "But we'll find her. I promise."

"Thinking about a locator spell?"

"Those are risky, so no." Most of them also required blood of the caster or the one needing to be found, and Damon didn't feel like slitting his wrists open. He had shed enough blood for a lifetime. "If you can't find her, that's intentional – and my magic would only tell her that you _knew_ the risks in bringing her."

Katherine would undoubtedly feel the invisible pull of Damon's magic, and in feeling that pull, she would know their real agenda. They had to bide their time and tap into their invisible wells of patience (wherever those were). Elena – and now maybe Stefan – were counting on them.

Mason sighed. "Fair enough. I just – I don't know where else to look for her, except maybe the festival. Aren't you volunteering this year?"

"Of course. It's not exactly hard." Damon wasn't exactly the most proactive – that award always went to Caroline Forbes – but he didn't mind helping where he could. "Aren't you coming?"

"And watch my brother act as if he runs the place?" Mason's grimace was audible. "No thanks."

Mason had a point. Every year, Mystic Falls heralded the winter season with a giant festival in the town square. Today, after the last exams were taken, the square would be transformed into a winter wonderland with booths and carnival games and occasionally a Ferris wheel, if they could find one in time. At sunset, the Mayor – Mason's gross older brother - would light the giant tree in Town Square, and the entire town was invited to partake in the ensuing light show.

In the early afternoon, the younger crowd would flock to the carnival games, the face-painting, and the booths selling hot cocoa. Most years, Damon and Stefan volunteered with the local Parks department. As soon as his exams finished, Stefan would join him, and they would assist little kids with buying popcorn or painting faces or whatever the festival needed. Their duties were never consistent, but the boys were rewarded with hot cocoa and volunteer hours on their resume.

Honestly, Damon didn't need a reward – though his growing collection of reindeer mugs were pretty awesome. Christmas wasn't his favorite holiday for the merchandise or the twinkling lights, but for the time spent together and the growing sense of camaraderie forged between volunteers. For all that he whined about his hometown, the Star Festival was one of the few town traditions that _didn't_ hold blatantly Eurocentric or racist implications.

For the most part – their focus on Christmas and Hanukkah sucked, but the new heart surgeon Dr. Shah was hosting a Bodhi Day booth, and Tyler had organized a skit for some Mexican-American Christmas tradition. Everyone had to start somewhere, right?

("Frankly," Aunt Carol had admitted to Mom a few days ago, "I'm just amazed Tyler _wants_ to help out this year. Normally Caroline has to reel him in with the promise of food.")

But Mason wasn't thinking of camaraderie or familial obligations – he was thinking of the cunning shadow he had unleashed upon everyone, and his guilt was starting to haunt every word he spoke.

"Yeah, but – it's the biggest thing in town. Everyone's gonna be there. Hell, your _nephew_ 's doing stuff for that Mexican nine-day celebration – "

"Los Pasadas."

"That. So I really do mean everyone. If Katherine's running some weird scheme, chances are, she'll be there too."

" _Or_ she'll use the festival as her cover, scope out whatever she's really here for. I can skip it, hunt her down, save the day, yada yada."

Sometimes, he remembered just how much he had missed his best friend. Damon allowed himself a laugh. "Fine. Worst-case scenario, neither of us see her, and then we'll grab some hot cocoa and perform that locator spell." Damon never _liked_ those – they always made his nose bleed – but a little hot cocoa made even the worst magic bearable.

There was a moment of silence on the other line.

Mason broke it with a very hesitant, "We? What do you mean by that?"

Damon laughed, this time of relief. "Stefan grew into his powers. I'd tell you now, but it's a long story."

"Ah." Mason's voice softened. "After tonight, um – I'm sure I'll have all the time in the world to hear it."

"You'd better. Meet me after the festival?"

"Anything for you, _akhi."_

 

 

  

At this hour, approximately 2:15 PM, downtown Mystic Falls was bursting to the seams with activity. Tons of people were assembling booths and sharing hot cocoa to keep each other warm. Most high-schoolers were celebrating the end of their midterms, while middle-schoolers and little tiny kids were singing Christmas carols or stringing together popcorn strands – and so, as Damon approached the center of the festival, he couldn't even hear himself think.

He could, however, spot Caroline in the middle of the frenzy with her trusty wooden clipboard. If anyone knew the pulse of the town (and its myriad of events), it was her. Even now, she seemed so _small_ in her giant earmuffs and oversized pink puffy coat. She was practically drowning in her gear, and she was what, seventeen? In this atmosphere, she could've passed for twelve.

Yet her deft hand guided everyone, child or adult, to their proper places, and her warm smile stood in place despite the freezing cold. A little chill never stopped this one from performing her proper duty.

"Caroline!" Damon called out to her, holding up the box of star ornaments he'd brought from home. Supposedly, his family had lent them to the tree since 1935? 1936? Far too long for Damon to care. "Where should I put this?"

She beamed, looking up at him from her clipboard. "Leave it over there? On the table behind me?"

"Um, sure." Damon set it down where he was told, right beside a collection of other neatly-labeled boxes. "How'd your last midterm go?"

"Pretty good. Mr. Saltzman's test was _ridiculous_ , considering we'd barely covered the Civil War, but my essay was killer." She sighed at the memory, setting her clipboard aside to better inspect the glass ornaments. "You're friends with him, right? Tell him to write better study guides?"

Damon stifled a laugh. "I don't think I can, but you and Stefan should run that by him later."

"Speaking of Stefan…" Caroline sighed, giving him a stern face as she held an ornament up to the light. "How does he manage to forget about Secret Santa every year? I had to remind him again."

He signed up for volunteering, not friendship woes. Damon wasn't sure if he wore a neon sign signaling for emotional advice, or if Caroline thought he was a dummy, or if she believed that his new, shiny master's in Cognitive Psych meant something – but he had to nip this in the bud. Right now.

"He always thinks he has enough time," Damon said, peering down at her and mustering his most apologetic look. "If Elena's not hounding him, he'll forget and well, it's either _too_ practical or super rushed. Or worse, both."

Caroline groaned. "Someday, his procrastination's gonna come back and bite him."

Damon pulled his scarf up to his mouth, if only to muffle his laughter. Caroline wasn't exaggerating: procrastination and Stefan had always been archrivals. See, every year after the tree lighting, the kids got together and did a small Secret Santa. They would each pick a name out of a hat, stick to a strict 15 dollar budget, and gift each other meaningful presents with their meager funds.

Except, every year, Stefan's gifts also erred on the side of borderline insulting: either it was a gas station gift card, a Mystic Grill gift card, or worse, dishtowels. None of them cooked enough for dishtowels.

(Frankly? It was a miracle that Stefan hadn't been kicked out of their Santa pool.)

"I'm sorry," Stefan's voice cut in, "Did you say I'm a _procrastinator?"_

For once, his kid brother was standing at his full height, with far more casual clothes than expected (Blue jeans? On a school day?). He looked comfy in a thick black parka, and he even had a gaudy ring, with some sapphire inset, but his frown and furrowed brow were classic Stefanizo.

Elena was giving the kid _zero_ room to breathe too, with her fingers intertwined with his. Her black peacoat and earmuffs made her feel more mature, and she stood with poised confidence. "Aw Stef, I'm sure you're just fine."

Caroline exchanged disgusted glances with Damon. The nausea was rising, and – Damon clamped that scarf to his mouth as he forced the uneasy sensation down. Ugh, he wasn't going to puke over them today. He had enough on his plate.

Stefan's furrowed brow only intensified. "You okay, big brother?"

Damon released a long, slow breath, letting his scarf go. "Yeah, um, I think – I'll be okay."

Caroline's expression softened. "You should head over to the calligraphy booth. As for Stefan and Elena…" She flipped through her notes. "I was thinking the hot chocolate? Seemed pretty low-key after last year's goldfish fiasco."

Elena furrowed her brow. "Um, okay."

"Don't look at me like that," Caroline said with a sigh. "I know, I know, it's not your fault the bags froze, so those poor girls couldn't take any goldfish home, but you're just pouring hot chocolate. It can't be that bad."

Stefan had to bite on his lower lip to keep from laughing. "She _what."_

"You were _there_!" Caroline's hands were shaking as she raised her clipboard - if it weren't for the sheer distance between them, she would've probably smacked Stefan's shoulder. "I swear, that midterm must've fried your brains."

Stefan and Elena exchanged long, hesitant glances.

"You're right. It must've slipped my mind." Stefan admitted, bowing his head in deference. "So, uh, Caroline? Where should I leave my Secret Santa gift?"

Caroline blinked back surprise. "Um… what do you mean?"

Stefan reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a perfectly-wrapped, medium-sized box. The paper was even in a blue and white snowflake pattern; the edges were crisp; and the box sure looked heavier than a Grill or gas station gift card. (Maybe it was a book? It looked thin enough to be one.)

"You told me to get my present? After Mr. Saltzman's exam? So, uh, here."

Caroline's gaze shifted between the box and Stefan more than a couple of times. "I'm sorry, um. Did you say _this_ is your present?"

"Yeees?" Stefan followed Caroline's gaze down to that pristine wrapping paper. Not a single scratch to be found. "It's within the limits, too – under fifteen bucks and everything."

A chilly silence ensued as Caroline set her clipboard aside and scrutinized Stefan – really scrutinized the kid – from head to toe. Her gaze narrowed, her shoulders tensed, and even her breath grew hitched as she took another step forward.

"Oh my god." She squealed, rushing towards him with outstretched arms. "You actually did it!"

Stefan flinched. "What do you mean?"

"You were on time, with a good present and everything." Damon smirked, finding some much-needed amusement. Just when he thought he knew his brother, he learned something new. "We didn't think it was possible."

Caroline giggled, pulling away long enough to add, "Yeah! Seriously, who are you and what have you done with Stefan Salvatore?"

"Um…." Stefan stepped back, staring at them with horrified eyes. "What do you mean –"

"I'm so impressed! Every single year, I have to send you, like, a hundred texts and fifty emails and maybe even check up on Damon…." As Caroline rattled off Stefan's sins, she tapped her fingers. On anyone else, it would've been annoying. On Caroline, this hyperactivity was expected. "I was this close to taping a post-it note to Elena's forehead, but Bonnie was like oh, don't even bother, it's gonna be bad…"

Elena drew in a deep, unsteady breath. "B-Bonnie? What about Bonnie?"

"We agreed to let her and Anna join Secret Santa?" Caroline tilted her head a little, concern and worry coloring her voice. "This isn't new information, Elena. Are you guys okay?"

"Never better," Stefan assured her, plastering on a cocky, almost overconfident smile as he moved towards Elena. His voice was unusually chipper, despite the weather and the apologies on his lips. "We're so sorry, Caroline, I don't know what's come over us."

"We really don't. We'll try to be better next time," Elena agreed, straightening her posture and ducking her head to hide the wide grin across her face.

For a second, her eyes met Damon's, and once again, a faded sepia photograph flashed in his brain.

"Caroline," Damon said, carefully enunciating every syllable as he diverted his gaze to the crowd behind her. "I forgot to tell you, but your mom was looking for you earlier. You should check up on her."

"I should?" Caroline bit on her upper lip. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah – just go. I promise, I'll get these two dumbasses where they need to be."

She gave them one last baffled stare before she nodded and turned towards the crowd, snagging the box of ornaments under her arm. "Got it. I'm counting on you."

Stefan's and Elena's shoulders were shaking with laughter as they watched Caroline disappear into the swarm of people. As their gazes turned towards Damon, he could feel the temperature drop almost instantaneously. Figures. Damon had wandered right into the eye of the storm – or perhaps they _were_ the storm, and he was their first casualty.

"I didn't realize you cared," Elena admitted, with a catty air that reminded him of someone else altogether.

"I didn't realize you liked playing pretend." Damon stood up straighter, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he closed the distance between them. "Why bother with Mystic Falls when you've got bigger fish to fry?"

"For the doppelgängers, of course." Stefan tilted his head, regarding Damon with newfound understanding. There was wisdom in his voice, far, far beyond his brother's seventeen years, and in that moment, he felt like someone else altogether. "You didn't think she'd come all this way for a moonstone, did you?"

Damon stared. "I'm sorry, doppelgängers? As in, _plural_?"

"How else would you explain us?" Stefan ran a hand through his unnaturally-gelled hair.

All this time, Stefan – and some of their ancestors, it seemed – had followed the same unnatural order that governed Elena and Katherine. No _wonder_ magic was coursing through every vein in Stefan's body: he was a living, breathing impossibility. If Elena had a shadow self in the form of Katherine, Stefan's was in the form of this stranger. God, they even had the same eyes.

Damon's voice grew hoarse as he dared to ask, "Did you know? About my brother?"

Elena – no, _Katherine_ shrugged. "Does it matter?"

It kind of did. Two against one wasn't fair: He couldn't terrorize them – or even set himself ablaze - with thousands of eye witnesses. Sure, everyone was flitting between booths and carnival games, but the second these shadow selves left their constrained narrative, Aunt Liz would march in and Damon would be arrested for his efforts.

Katherine and this cheap Stefan knock-off were reading off a pre-written script, and for better or worse, Damon had to swallow down his fear and play his part.

That, Damon was beginning to realize, was exactly what they were bargaining on. No one would suspect Stefan's wardrobe or question Elena's sudden amusement and confidence. No one except - except the very person he had just shooed away.

This martyrdom was seriously starting to get old.

"Where are they," Damon said, his voice growing louder with each syllable as he suppressed his hesitation. "Where the hell did you take them?"

Katherine twisted a few strands of stick-straight hair. "Now, who said we took them anywhere?"

"You're stepping into their shoes." Anna's almost flippant voice countered as she approached them. She raised her chin defiantly at them, keeping her watchful gaze on the doppelgängers. "Hello, Katherine. I'm sure you heard about what happened to the _last_ vampires who waltzed into Salvatore Manor?"

The Stefan knock-off let out a hearty, amused laugh. "You're bluffing."

"Nope." Anna gave them a smug, arrogant look as she rocked back on her heels. "You might be a Salvatore, but you're also as dumb as rocks."

He would've lunged for Anna then and there, had Katherine not embraced him from behind. In his ear, she whispered, with an almost-seductive grace, "Not in public, sweetie."

"You're not helping!" False Stefan squirmed in her arms, struggling to break free. "Let me at her. No one'll miss her."

Damon and Anna exchanged uneasy glances. If these two were intent on keeping the peace, they were doing a _terrible_ job. Then again, perhaps that job really did fall on Damon's shoulders, and only he could hold their world together.

So he stepped forward, holding out his outstretched palm and summoning the smallest of flames, "I won't ask this again. Where is my brother?"

"He's standing right in front of you," the Stefan knock-off insisted, with a cocky grin that betrayed his true identity. "You don't recognize your family, _fratellone_?"

Damon's heart sank. For all that he had blustered about faith, about culture, about language defining him, Italian had never been the language that Stefan cherished. It had never been the language he studied night after night, except out of obligation to their departed Nonno. It wasn't the language everyone associated with Stefan.

For all the posturing and research this imposter had done, he had missed the most important detail of them all.

"Akhi," Damon corrected under his breath. "You mean akhi."

Stefan's expression softened. "Akhi, then."

"You don't need to know," Katherine smugly insisted, still holding onto her partner. "If you loved your brother as much as you claim to, you should've noticed a long time ago that–"

Anna growled, rushing to pin Katherine against the makeshift card table. It collapsed under their weight, crashing with an undignified thud. As she wrestled with her old friend, Anna's voice turned gruff and desperate, "Shut up."

Damon seized the opportunity and stretched his palm out towards these cowards. He didn't need to mull over pros and cons anymore. Worst case scenario, Katherine would ditch this loser and dig her perfectly-manicured nails into his skin. She would also attract everyone's attention – and it would be game over for both teams.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on imagining the microscopic blood vessels inside that empty brain of Stefan's lookalike. They would swell up and burst, one by one – the blood supply would cut itself off as their healing factor worked into overtime and –

And an almost _inhuman_ shriek escaped Stefan's – no, false Stefan's lips as he sunk onto the grass, his knees digging into the earth and the dirt piling onto his jeans. "Make – make it stop…"

"Tommy!" Katherine broke from Anna's grip and rushed to his side.

"This was too risky," Tommy murmured, digging his fingers into her forearm. His hands were growing white, and his voice was hoarse and exhausted. "We can't – we can't keep pretending – hngh!"

Katherine narrowed her eyes at his assailants. "They're alive, if that's what you're after. Now let him go."

"You didn't answer my question." Damon didn't want to, not when he (rightfully) believed that they would turn on them in broad daylight. In fact, he stepped closer and imagined more blood vessels popping across that grey matter, swelling up in one big symphony before they burst in unison. "You'll have to be a little more specific, Miss Pierce."

She huffed, gazing down at her dirt-stained boots as if she were seriously contemplating his offer. The color was draining from Tommy's face; he couldn't take much more. Everyone here knew it. If she wanted him conscious – and 'alive' – she would have to play by his rules. She would also have to avoid the growing crowd.

Wait. People were already starting to abandon their posts and stare. Wouldn't be much longer before Aunt Carol, or Dickwood, or _anyone_ "normal" caught wind of their little game. Katherine's expression faltered as she stared at the hovering crowd. It was growing too large too quickly, and for what? Doppelgängers, whoever they really were?

Biting on her lip, Katherine shoved the false Stefan into Damon's arms.

Instinctively, he pulled the unconscious kid close to him, burying him in his chest as he struggled to think. Now that Damon had this cheap knock-off, he could cease the attack altogether. The kid was way too limp and cold to be faking the pain.

"You should take him to a doctor," Katherine insisted a little too loudly, pulling her hands into fists. "I uh, I think he got super dehydrated. I could go with you and –"

"I think they'll be fine," Caroline insisted as she cut through the crowd. "Elena, come on. Tyler and I are gonna move you to calligraphy."

"No, I should go with him." Katherine's voice grew panicked. "I'm his girlfriend, Caroline. I need to make sure he's okay."

"Damon's also his _brother_ ," Caroline insisted, reaching out and squeezing Katherine's gloved hands as tightly as she could. "He'll take good care of him, okay? He'll bring him back soon. Have faith in him."

Katherine furrowed his brow. "Take good care of –"

"I uh, I just remembered I have to help Mom with something." Anna's eyes darted towards the Velvet Room's familiar sign. "I'll be back in ten?"

Caroline's sigh was an exasperated one. "Sure. I'll see you exactly in ten, okay?"

Anna shot her an amused, almost smug smile. "Of course. In the meantime? Take care of our girl."

As Caroline dragged (a supremely unwilling) Katherine off towards the calligraphy both, Anna and Damon once again exchanged uneasy glances. Katherine's posture was unsteady and wobbly, even when no one was watching her. This was past the point of pretending: she was genuinely bothered, and Damon couldn't figure out why.

Her Tommy was a vampire. He'd wake up soon enough – and neither Anna nor Damon were into sadistic torture. If her partner cooperated this time, he would be free to go.

Swallowing his hesitation, Damon nudged the kid. "So… what now?"

"We take him to Mom's store and question our moron," Anna insisted, reaching for Tommy's arm and slinging it over her shoulders.

"It's as good a plan as any," Damon admitted, following suit and slinging Tommy's other arm over his shoulders.

They walked back in silence to the Velvet Room, setting Tommy onto one of the smaller couches. As Damon headed back for a glass of water, he pulled out his phone and shot Mason a message.

_We found something you should see. Head to the Velvet Room ASAP. Also: you couldn't find Katherine because she was pretending to be Elena. I don't know where Elena actually is._

Mason's reply was instantaneous: 

_**wtf? What do you mean, you don't know?** _

_I just told you. She's taken Elena's place._

_**On my way. Stay there. Is she with you?** _

_No. BUT I've got her partner-in-crime and Caroline and Tyler'll make sure Katherine stays where she's supposed to._

_**We really need a better game plan**_ ಠ _ **_**_ ಠ

_You're telling me. Can you text Jenna for me? I can't talk much longer.  
_

**_Leave that to me. I'll let Alaric know too. They deserve to know.  
_ **

Silently, Damon agreed. Now that Jenna had been brought into the fold, she and Alaric deserved to have every little detail at their fingertips. Alaric wouldn't be able to rush over, given that he was grading that 'ridiculous' midterm Caroline had mentioned, but Jenna? She had a better shot of ditching her duties and coordinating everyone together.

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, Damon paused and listened to – to muffled sobs?

"I'm so sorry," Anna was saying, almost inaudibly. "I should've guessed that the bitch would betray _everyone_ to save her own skin."

"Even me?" Tommy's voice cracked. "That's not like her, Anna. I swear."

Damon bowed his head in deference as he entered the front room, this time with water and a couple of chilled blood bags. He couldn't look into Tommy's haunted, bloodshot eyes – the tears resembled his brother's, and right now? He had to focus on the information available to him. His brother and Elena were counting on him.

If only he had listened to Mason much earlier – if only he had buried the hatchet with Bonnie – then maybe, just maybe he wouldn't have to interrogate a broken shadow.


	26. interrogations

Nothing could've prepared Damon for this. The young man sitting in the armchair across from him had Stefan's face, Stefan's voice, hell, he had Stefan's _wardrobe_ – and yet, they couldn't have been any more dissimilar.

"I'm sorry, Tom," Anna was saying as she held Tommy's hands in hers. Her fingertips brushed up against his palms, rhythmically circling them again and again. "I just – Katherine's a selfish bitch. She'll throw you to the werewolves every time, no question."

At the sound of Damon's footsteps, they turned to face him. Damon's smile didn't reach his eyes as he offered the blood bags and glasses of water. The tray, he left on the front counter.

"So you're Thomas Avery Salvatore," Damon surmised, struggling to keep his voice even. "Giuseppe was your brother?"

Thomas nodded, tearing open a corner of the bag with his (perfectly manicured) nails. Even under fire, he somehow retained his composure.

"I can't say I expected to meet you so soon," said Thomas, setting the bag aside and motioning for Damon and Anna to pull up seats.

"Neither did we," Anna called as she grabbed two chairs.

A smarter man would've also called Pearl and warned her about old friends, but Damon refused to pull her into this intricate web. The so-called grown-ups deserved _at least_ one day of peace and quiet before Mystic Falls sunk into the depths of this doppelganger-inflicted hell.

_There aren't coincidences in our world_ , Bonnie had once said. Thomas was living proof of her philosophy – and the longer Damon observed this doppelganger, the more he noticed the differences between ancestor and descendant.

The biggest one was a well-worn lapis lazuli ring on the vampire's right hand. It was adorned with a strong, cursive T surrounded by the Salvatore's family seal. Family records would mark it as an heirloom, yet Damon had never seen anything like it. Its dark blue hue reminded him of Bonnie's necklace, and even the ring on Anna's hand. Perhaps it signified vampirism in a way nothing else could.

"Why're you here, anyway?" Damon folded his arms. "Because of Stefan?"

Thomas's gaze fell onto the clock behind them. "Something like that."

He couldn't have heard that right. This asshole had ventured back to Mystic Falls for some innocent kid? Stefan was – Stefan was too precious for some half-baked scheme. In fact, Stefan would walk through the front door any minute now, hand in hand with his Elena, and he would laugh at Damon for interrogating a broken mirror.

(" _You know I'm right here,"_ he would insist, puffing up his chest with pride. " _I always will be_.")

"Let's try this again," Damon snarled, fighting the urge to fry Thomas's brain. " _How_ does Stefan fall into this?"

Thomas crossed his legs, settling into his seat and reaching for another blood bag. The edges of his fingers were stained a deep crimson as he bit in.

He recited, as if he'd practiced for this day, "A long, long time ago, two young people fell in love. Their passion for each other was so strong it could conquer the universe, and so the universe in turn feared them. One of them created immortality – vampires – to keep each other on this mortal plane. But nature needs a balance, and so the universe created shadow selves. Doppelgängers that the universe could kill and separate for all of eternity. From that moment, one would be born every five hundred years, and the other… every hundred and fifty. They were torn by space and time, never to meet again."

"Until you and Katherine," Damon ventured to guess.

"No. Until Stefan and Elena."

Anna blinked back genuine surprise. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Katherine was a vampire when she met me. She had lived for _centuries_ before we even laid eyes on each other," Thomas scoffed, as he pulled a leg up under him. "When we decided that we wanted to live together for eternity, I didn't think it through."

The pieces were finally falling into place. Although Thomas was the rightful heir, he couldn't waltz into Salvatore Manor as an eternal teenager. No one would truly believe it was him. After all, Thomas's whereabouts had been unknown. He had been a footnote in family records; the Salvatore money and land had gone to Giuseppe, and in turn, Giuseppe's descendants.

Which meant…

"You couldn't inherit anything." Damon's laugh was a mirthless one. He held up a couple of fingers as he added, "Katherine was gonna claim the money from your baby brother, except…. One small problem. Dear ol' Great-Grandpa was in love with someone else."

Thomas swallowed thickly. In that moment, he suddenly felt more seventeen than a hundred and sixty seven, "I had no idea that she had turned Bonnie, let alone what happened next. That's – that's not the kind of person I am."

"But you're willing to kidnap my brother?"

"It's nothing personal." Thomas kept sucking on the blood bag, intent on savoring every last drop. "Katherine and I want our freedom, and our doppelgängers are our one-way ticket."

Anna narrowed her eyes. "How so?"

Good question. Damon couldn't imagine anything that would prevent two immortal star-crossed lovers from embracing their destiny. They battled against impossible odds and they _won_. No monster, no universe, no star-less sky could pull them apart.

"That's not my secret to tell." Thomas murmured, avoiding Anna's questioning gaze.

"Seriously?" Anna dug her heels into the tiled floor, lightly scratching its surface. "I think you're still trying to protect her, so spill unless you want Van Helsing here to pop your brain again."

"You know, my dad taught us that trick." Thomas laughed, not unkindly. It was a sickening sound, the kind that made Damon's stomach churn. "Never thought it would actually be used on me."

"There's a first time for everything." Damon balled his hands into tight fists, narrowing his eyes and summoning what little strength he had. He wasn't afraid to follow through on a threat.

Thomas Salvatore had died a century and a half ago – and this bloodsucker, wearing Stefan's face and clothes, wouldn't last an hour under Aunt Liz's floodlights.

The moron probably knew that. He grew quiet at the insinuation, tapping his fingers against the armrest. Even from the front of the store, they could hear the deafening roar of townspeople enjoying the festivities. One of Dickwood's cronies had rigged the speakers to play Christmas hymns in a loop, over and over again – and frankly, Damon wanted to hear the truth more than _"Joyful, joyful, we adore thee."_

"It was nothing personal," said Thomas after a moment, meeting Damon's scathing gaze. The immortal fool was practically shaking with fear.

"No." Anna's voice was a pin drop against the hard tile floor. "So you were just… gonna switch with them?"

The uncertainty rattling around in Damon's head only worsened. Katherine had plotted and schemed for months, even pulling innocent people like _Mason_ and _Alaric_ into her web, all so she could step into Elena's shoes? No. Thomas couldn't have gone along with something that stupid.

"Not exactly." Thomas let out a long, slow breath as the color drained from his face. "We needed to make sure Klaus would never come after us. So after we'd switched, we'd hand over ourselves – and if we stuck around long enough, Stefan and Elena would've jumped off the bridge."

_Grayson and sis… they… the bridge…_

"Fuck you." Damon's voice felt like venom, with bile dripping from his lips, but he didn't care anymore.

Elena and Stefan didn't deserve a repeat of last spring. They didn't deserve the Gilberts' underwater grave. Uncle Grayson – Elena's father – had been Damon's mentor and guiding light. His life had been cut too short by the currents, and Damon had sworn to protect Elena then and there. She was going to avoid that fate, and so would Stefan.

Fuck Katherine and her sociopathy, and fuck Thomas for blindly following his lover into the deep end.

Stefan was Damon's entire world. Stefan's dumb little quirks, his inability to let the truth pass him by – that was also what made him _incredible_ , and intelligent, and the coolest kid Damon had ever met. Thomas couldn't hold a candle to the literary nerd who would lock himself in his room and churn out a whole book's worth of angsty poetry. He couldn't hold a candle to the diligent kid who had memorized surahs from the Qur'an, just because it would make Mom smile – and he sure couldn't hold a candle to Dad's golden boy.

Everyone would miss Stefan. Everyone would notice that he was gone, if not in mind, then definitely in spirit.

What Damon lacked in speed and strength, he compensated with sheer willpower as he landed that hit.

"I'm sorry," Thomas croaked, his entire body tensing at Damon's sudden punch. "It sounded stupid, even to me."

Damon went for another punch. But it wasn't as satisfying as popping every single blood vessel in that kid's puny little brain. So he focused on the mental image of blood vessels traveling along the arteries and the veins, both oxygenated and de-oxygenated red blood cells swelling up….

"Don't you dare!" Anna shoved Damon against the wall, holding him back as someone might an unruly kid. "Thomas is _trying to help_ , and you go and fry his brain?"

"I'm tired of being a hero." Damon spat in Anna's face as he squirmed and squirmed – she was stronger than he'd expected. Way stronger. Her grip might as well have been titanium. "He wanted to kill Stefan! _**My**_ Stefan!"

Thomas's cough was a loud – and probably over exaggerated – one. "No, we wanted to _switch_. Katherine arranged a meeting with one of his liaisons tonight. Trust me, doppelgängers are too valuable to die."

Damon had to confirm, "Tonight?"

If Thomas was telling the truth, they didn't have much time. The sun would set in a couple of hours; Damon could already tell from the soft, yellow-orange light on the tile and marble counters. Mystic Falls wasn't _that_ small either. The surrounding woods would take hours alone, and that's if they hurried. There were far too many hiding places for two young teenagers. Damon knew from firsthand experience.

"Yeah." Thomas stared right through Damon, as if the younger Salvatore had become a figment of his imagination. "Our guy's supposed to arrive after sunset."

"You should take him there," said Anna, with sudden authority, as she relinquished Damon.

"It's a lot more rundown than we remembered. Would he be able to…?"

"He's a Salvatore. He can handle it."

"I'm right here…." Damon raised a hand, as if it would make him more visible. When neither Thomas nor Anna broke their stares, he sighed. "What am I handling again?"

"You'll see. Anna, can you grab me some stardust water?" Thomas's smile actually reached his eyes as he rose to his feet. "And uh, some wolfsbane for good measure?"

As Anna headed into the back room, Damon felt a sudden unease. While he and Anna had never been on great terms, she faced the unexpected with an effortless grace – and that charm would've served them well with this Klaus. Without her (or his unexpectedly late best friend), Damon could already sense trouble brewing.

Wolfsbane, he understood. Stray werewolves could be tamed with it, but…. "Stardust water?"

"Just in case." Thomas licked the last bits of blood off his fingers, like a cat desperately trying to groom himself before company. "You never know when you'll need to synthesize something."

"But you're not an alchemist." Damon tilted his head ever-so-slightly.

"No, you are."

Damon must've been looked as skeptical as he felt, because Thomas could only scrunch up his whole face in retaliation.

"I don't hate you, Damon."

"Gee, it sure feels like you do."

"It's more - you feel like Giu," Thomas admitted, his voice turning soft, almost inaudible. "I don't know why, because there's no way you should, but…"

But Giu had played Grand Theft Body only a month ago. Damon couldn't exactly forget, considering that he had been left with the ever-haunting scent of Bonnie's perfume. Sometimes, he could still hear the echoes of his ancestor's voice.

Giuseppe hadn't been an alchemist, or a world-renown warlock, but he had been Thomas's little brother. (The golden son, the cherished and beloved one, from the sounds of it.) Maybe he and Thomas had something in common after all: a desire to protect their family, even if it meant sacrificing themselves.

"We're family," Damon said, feigning nonchalance as he turned towards the door. "I'm sure that's all it is."

It couldn't be anything more. Damon wouldn't _let_ it be anything more.

The front bells chimed as Mason rushed in, with white, red, and bright green LED lights still dangling off his wrists. They dragged along behind him as he whipped his head around and scanned the area. The faint sounds of Christmas hymns followed his footsteps, and the hollering of small children confirmed the distinct _lack_ of trouble outside.

Good. At least the rest of Mystic Falls would be preoccupied.

"Akhi?" Mason furrowed his brow, turning to face Damon. "What'm I supposed to be looking at?"

"Forget that. What happened to you?" Damon's eyebrows almost reached his hair line.

In any other circumstance, he would've demanded an explanation – nay, he would've thrown his best friend back into the fray and added another round of lights. Considering their new time constraints, he didn't have the time or energy.

Mason waved it off, ignoring the off-white glow from his jacket. (More LED lights, probably.) "I'll explain later. Let's grab Stefan and get that spell on the road?"

Thomas ducked his head to hide his laughter. "Should we tell him?"

"Huh?" Mason blinked back surprise. "What're you guys talking about?"

Damon nudged his best friend out the door and back towards the parking lot. "We'll bring you up to speed on the way over."

 

 

 

 

They never did perform the locator spell.

With Anna and Thomas in tow, there was no need. As they drove towards the old Salvatore manor, Thomas brought Mason up to speed. He explained the doppelgänger legend; Thomas's role in luring Katherine over to Salvatore Manor; and in turn, Katherine's failed attempt to seduce Mason. How Stefan's and Elena's only real crimes were being born in the wrong place and in the wrong time. How their mere existence had landed them on Katherine's radar, and how they were now being sold to the highest bidder.

Which, in this case, was an immortal vampire that Katherine had pissed off nearly four and a half centuries ago. Thomas had never even met the guy. Neither had Anna, but as soon as the car had started moving, she slid sunglasses down her face and told everyone to wake her up later.

("You don't even _need_ sleep," Damon had groaned on selectively deaf ears.)

"Klaus has been hunting Katherine for centuries," Thomas was explaining to a rapt Mason. "So to buy our freedom, we thought we'd hand over the humans. Everyone knows about Elena. No one knows about me."

"How come? Some weird Romeo and Juliet clause?"

"Worse. My progenitor, the one who invented doppelgängers to begin with, burned his paintings." Thomas shook his head in dismay. "My father didn't keep my photographs around, so by the time Stefan was born… well. The kid wouldn't have had any way of knowing the truth."

Mom and Dad certainly hadn't known either. They would've said something, or at least given Damon a heads-up about the imposter rolling into town.

As fascinating as this story was, Damon hadn't paid it much attention. He'd heard what he needed to, and someone needed to keep his eyes on the road. The Camaro was still his baby – and today, it seemed to glide over the uneven, bumpy gravel.

He murmured to himself, "Feels like we're flying."

"Because we are," Mason agreed, glancing outside the window and noting that terra firma was a full six inches below them. "Honestly, this is like, the least weird thing about today."

Agreed. On a scale of one to ten, a flying car didn't even make a blip on their radars.

Thomas, on the other hand, pressed a hand to his mouth before rolling down the window and regurgitating what remained of his last meal. Gross. Damon didn't think vampires _got_ sick, much less motion sick. Wasn't _dying_ supposed to prevent that kind of thing?

Mason pulled out a bottle of medicine – and some water – from one of his duffel bags. "You're gonna need this."

Thomas gave it a skeptical glance. "I'm a vampire."

"You also just threw up. Trust me. Take it."

"He's also a sports trainer," Damon chimed in unhelpfully. "He knows what he's doing, especially when you're concerned."

Thomas scrutinized the bottle as if it would eat him, carefully opening the lid and helping himself to the proper dose. That was probably the first – and last – time a vampire would ever argue with a werewolf's (sound) medical advice.

 

 

 

Once Damon had safely landed the Camaro, all four of them piled out into the grounds that had once been the original Salvatore estate. Overgrown wilderness and a dilapidated, yellow-tinted manor greeted them with its creaking, uneven presence.

"Shit." Thomas let out a low, soft whistle. "You really let this place go."

In 1864, Salvatore Manor had been one of Mystic Falls' premiere estates, with land that stretched for miles across the Virginia countryside. Generations of Salvatores had resided on the plantation as the land had been passed down, right up until 1912, when one of Damon's great-grandfathers decided to move into one of the boarding houses on the edge of the land.

Ever since, the old Salvatore estate had been left to rot. No one cared enough to maintain it, or as Damon had cynically put it in a school paper, no one wanted to be reminded of what they had once supported and thrived on. Better to live in a house built on paid labor than blood, sweat, and untold hours of torture.

No one could've prepared them for the unsightly overgrowth, the fields of unkempt wildflowers, or even the stench that carried through the land. This was more than an abandoned home: this was a remnant of a day that had never come.

Damon squinted, placing a hand over his eyes. "Yeah. Can't say I've ever been here."

Nor did he really want to be. As far as hiding places went, this would've been the top on Katherine's list. No one would dream of stepping foot onto the rotting grounds, much less exposing themselves to whatever bugs and creepy-crawly critters called this place home.

"The sooner we leave, the better," Mason agreed, taking that tentative first step into the thick grass.

"Hang on." Damon held out a hand towards their feet. " _Levitare._ "

Like the Camaro, they would float mere inches off the ground. Not enough to fly, but enough to glide around the thick grass – and the estate - without accidentally sinking into what remained of the dirt paths.

"That's gotta come in handy," Anna remarked, sliding her sunglasses into her hair as if they had become a headband. As they floated to the estate, bypassing several critters that now called the Manor home, she had to ask, "Yo, Tom, who're we looking for?"

"Some guy named Eddie," said Thomas, peering down at his now-floating feet. "We told him to meet us in the sitting room. I uh – I didn't realize it looked like this."

"You also haven't been home for a hundred and fifty years," Anna said with a huff, shooting him a sympathetic look.

"Why don't we split up?" Thomas tapped his foot thoughtfully, glancing up towards the second floor, or what remained of it, anyway. "Damon and Mason, you take downstairs, and Anna and I'll comb upstairs. Just in case Katherine switched things up."

Anna nodded. "Got it." She stepped back, taking a running start and jumping over the rotting, broken staircase altogether.

Damon waited for Thomas to follow her, and once the two were out of earshot, he held out his right hand and willed fire to dance across his fingertips. In that same, swift motion, he gently tapped his - and Mason's - feet back on the ground.

"I thought _for_ sure that you'd argue with them," Mason admitted, shaking his head fondly as he turned towards what remained of the lower floor.

An architect would've cried at the disarray; and maybe a better family would've kept up with the grounds. A better family would've also acknowledged the role they played in long-held prejudices, and maybe even known the doppelgänger curse that had befallen their descendants.

"It wasn't worth it." Damon allowed himself a smile as they moved forward. If he remembered antebellum homes right, the sitting room would be close to the stairs. Perhaps behind the giant, faded double doors? "They used to live here. They'll know it better than we do – and besides, this feels like old times."

Lockwood and Salvatore, kicking ass and taking names, just like they had in high school. (All they were missing were the beaten-up, worn leather jackets and sunglasses.)

As they stood in front of the double doors, Mason knelt beside the hinges and pulled them off. A faint golden glow shone through, and Mason took that as his cue to pull the doors straight off. With that gone, Damon tentatively took that first step inside the sitting room.

Like the rest of the estate, the lack of a roof allowed the elements to make themselves at home. The walls were tinted yellow; the floorboards were a faded shade of brown; and giant mice were scurrying to and fro between their feet. There was also soot-covered fireplace along the furthest wall, with a cracked mirror lying along its mantle. The couches on both sides of the room were old, worn, with faded multicolored fabric that had seen better days. An unconscious Elena lay on one of them, resting her head on a struggling – and clearly awake – Stefan. Blood was dripping from his nose, and an open gash had been cut across his cheek.

Had he been too late? The fire dancing across Damon's fingers extinguished as he dared to meet his little brother's gaze. His voice was small, and timid, and a little nervous as he called, "Stefanizo?"

Stefan snapped to attention, raising his head in the direction of the door. "Day?"

Without a second thought, Damon knelt at his brother's side and lightly pressed his fingertips on Stefan's new wounds. " _Guarigione._ "

Glittering energy was released from his skin, soaking into Stefan's wound and forcing the cut to close upon itself. His magic – his healing energy – shone like blue stardust, soothing even the harshest of his brother's wounds.

The rest of the outside world didn't matter. Stefan was hurt, and Damon wasn't going to leave until he was safe.

"You shouldn't have," murmured Stefan, though his breathing was too shallow and choppy to sound convincing. "I – I would've been -"

Damon shook his head. "Shut it, akhi."

"Isn't this sweet," an all-too familiar voice sneered, as her too-high stilettos announced her presence. Katherine's smirk could've broken even the most fragile of glasses. "A touching reunion, right before everything goes to hell."

As Damon brushed up against Stefan's wrist, he forced himself to breathe. He may not be in familiar territory – and he may have an injured brother – but he would fight. He would challenge Katherine, and he would win.

It was this resolve that allowed him to rise to his feet and face her, head-on. Mason stood outside the door, banging against the threshold as if an invisible barrier blocked his path.

Damon's shoulders tensed, but he forced a smirk across his face. He could pull that barrier down, easy. All he needed to do was distract Katherine long enough so she wouldn't notice.

He forced bravado into his voice too,"What makes you so sure of that?"

Katherine Pierce, according to Anna, was a schemer with contingencies upon contingencies. You botch up plan A, she retaliates with plan B. Plan B goes awry, she enacts plan C, and so on. This must've been plan M or plan Z or something wholly unexpected, judging from the disdain on Stefan's face and the energy radiating from those rotting floorboards. Forget the secrets tucked away in his ancestors' grimoires: his ancestral home held power far beyond his wildest imagination.

"A lot of things." Katherine started counting her fingers, one by one, as she turned on her heels and paced around what remained of their sitting room. "One, you see that barrier. Your best friend can't save you. Two, I'm afraid Tommy and Anna're trapped upstairs. Three, dear, sweet _Alaric_ and his very human girlfriend are preoccupied with a present I left them at the festival. And of course, your beloved Bennett can't save you this time."

Katherine's laugh was like a noblewoman's, with a haughty air that could've consumed the entire mansion and then some. In another era, it might've been admirable. In this one, Damon wanted to see her burn.

He took one tentative step forward. Katherine merely held out her wrist and scratched it fiercely with her sharp, red-painted nail.

A low, soft moan escaped Elena's lips.

"I tried to tell you," Stefan grimaced, peering down at his still unconscious girlfriend. "She forced me to link them together. You injure her, you injure Elena too."

A linking spell. In all his years, Damon had never heard anything like it – but that must've been the magic binding doppelgängers together, generation after generation.

He swallowed, unwilling to take his eyes off the original shadow self, "How…?"

"Face it, Salvatore." Katherine smirked. "You've more than met your match."


End file.
